Snowflake
by Winged'Pollution
Summary: I was looking to start over. To run, like I tend to do. Unfortunate, then, that all I found was blood.
1. Prologue

**My second Oblivion fic. The first was a flop, so I deleted it.**

**A fair warning to all. I switch between my Assassin's Creed fic, my book and now this rather quickly, so sometimes it's good, sometimes it's not, but when I start a story, ****it always, always sucks. But trust me when I say that it will get better. And Lucien will come in later. I promise.**

**I own nothing. Bethesda owns all. They are the almighty overlords of Oblivion and don't anyone forget it. **_**They created this.**_

**Song: Kids, MGMT**

Green grass, long and untamed, rippled in the deep forest. Trees towered, immeasurable, into the heavens; moss and fungus adorned their ancient trunks, as well as herbivorous insects and dark, peeling bark. Birds chirped contently to each other, singing sweet songs in the muffled quiet of the wet forest. The sun inquired through the tall green branches of the trees, her pale light lighting the morning dew into specks of liquid gold. A doe nuzzled through the grass, her hooves gently snapping twigs and the soft shells of her ears swiveling and listening.

An odd puff of breath made a tiny cloud of fog in the chill air. Something grey glittered dully in a ray of sun, accompanied by a stretching noise and the sharp breaking of a stick. The doe immediately snapped to attention, eyes wide, but unable to detect another presence. After a moment of hesitation, she put her nose back to nibbling at the grass.

An almost-silent _twang _echoed through the awakening forest; a sliver of grey and brown darted through the air and struck the doe square in the neck. The animal fell with hardly a noise. A stream of bright blood began the run down the short fur of the deer before I ripped the arrow back and returned it to my quiver.

I pulled a curved dagger from my belt and began to skin the animal. My out-of-place black hair fell over my face, exposing long pointed ears. I glanced over my shoulder as my hands skillfully skinned the doe in a matter of minutes before I gathered as much meat as I could carry in my pack and took off through the forest, my calloused bare feet sliding across the moist grass as I sprinted.

_I have enough food now. _I thought to myself. _Today I can leave. I can steal Cyrodiilic clothes from a merchant or adventurers. If I run out of arrows I can use my knife or make more. _

My pace slowed as I approached my makeshift camp. The majority of brush had been pushed away, creating a large circle of surprisingly soft plant life to sleep on. The plants were too short to cut away and would have grown back in a fortnight anyway. The Green Pact would have prevented me from doing so, but I did not abide by the Pact.

A ring of stones made the outline for a small fire pit; half-burned pieces of wood lay on top of moist ash. Pushing aside the black wood with my foot, I prodded the drier ash underneath until I saw the glow of red coals from my fire last night. Removing the piece of cloth over the large pile of wood I had set aside, I put a handful of dry twigs and leaves in the fire to restart it, keeping my hands back from the flare that erupted after the leaves immediately caught fire.

Taking the venison out of my pack, I speared the strips with sticks and laid them on top of two vertical logs to dry and smoke. After making sure that they were secure, I laid on my makeshift bedroll and reached into my pack to look at my map, a very nice one that charted the entirety of Tamriel. My eyes quickly found the tiny hole I had poked into the parchment to mark my location; the far north of Valenwood, west of Arenthia, a city that I had never visited, and slightly east of a river that I did not know the name of. Like so many times before, I traced my finger along the path I would take to the nearest city in Cyrodiil—a large settlement by the name of Skingrad.

The city of Dune in Elsweyr was just as close, but I had learned about other provinces, and Elsweyr had the same thick, wet rainforests as Valenwood, and I couldn't stand it anymore.

It was the same surroundings. The same sweltering humidity, the same constant rain. I craved something different—I wanted to walk through fields of grain, and eat grapes off the vine, and sail on a boat. But the thing I wanted most in the entire world was to see snow. Beautiful white snow. I wanted to taste it, roll in it, watch it dance down to earth. Smiling at the thought, I rolled onto my back, still clutching my map, and slowly fell asleep.

[:::]

_The child giggled as she looked at her friend. The Bosmer, perhaps seven winters old, was staring in fascinated horror at the largest bug either of them had ever seen. The beetle was as big as two of their pudgy fists, armored in black and sporting six spindly, barbed legs. It sat on the ground between the two children, not moving in terror._

_The girl looked up at her friend. "Poke it, Nulem!" She pointed at the crooked stick the other was holding in his hand._

_The boy broke out of his trance to stare at her in disbelief, dirty blond hair flopping across his round features. "No way am I touching that thing, Vala! Why don't you, if you're so brave!" Indignant, he shoved the stick into her tiny hands, leaning precariously over the insect between them to do so._

_Vala pouted, her tiny eyebrows furrowing. "Fine, I will. But you have to stop being mean or I'm gonna tell my Mum on you, and you'll be in trouble!" _

_Smiling in victory, she looked down at the beetle and crinkled her nose. Holding up the stick so her elbow was in the air, she gave the black bug a sharp stab. The beetle, startled, took off into the air, buzzing with the force of its large wings and circling above the heads of the two. The children screamed and jumped to their feet, waving their arms over their heads as they sprinted with all the energy in their short legs back to the closest house to the branch they had been perched on, which happened to be Vala's. _

_As they approached, a young woman with raven-black hair jogged out of the house, panicked at the sound of the children's shrieks. She fell to one knee the same instant the two Bosmer crashed into her knees. _

_Before she could ask anything, Vala looked up to her, face flushed, and blurted, "Mum, Mum! We found this great _huge _beetle on the branch so me and Nulem thought we could see it up close so we went out there and brought this stick to poke it with but Nulem was being a baby and didn't want to so I poked it but then it flew away and started to attack us and I think it was deadly because it was completely black!"_

_Blinking as she took in the rush of information, Vala's mother remained silent for a moment before laughing a high, bell-like tinkle. "Okay, I get it." She looked between the two children putting on a very serious face. "That bug really _could _have been deadly, couldn't it?" The two nodded vigorously. "Well, in that case, I suppose that you two were being very brave adventurers!"_

_The children glanced at each other, not having thought of this before._

"_In honor of your courageous victory over the deadly beetle," The woman went on, adding slight sarcasm to the word 'deadly'. "I propose I cook lunch for the two daring adventurers!"_

_The boy and the girl cheered, and, smiling at this pleasant turn of events, they each took one of the woman's hands as they walked into her house._

[:::]

My eyes snapped open. Judging by the position of the sun, it seemed to be mid-afternoon. Sun shone gaily through the branches, the chirping and cooing of birds echoing through the lush jungle. Moisture had settled on every surface, creating a thin sheet of water across the plant life.

The dream had been vivid, a long-forgotten piece of my past. It was not something I had intended to forget—it was one of my fondest childhood memories. But somehow it had gotten lost, buried underneath the piles of rubble and dust that was my mind.

The smell of cooked meat wafted into my nostrils, gently pulling me from my thoughts; the strips of venison were dry and cooked enough to store for a long period of time. standing, I pulled the thin strips of meat from the charred sticks and packed them neatly into my pack. My bedroll could be left—it was only layers of soft leaves. Making sure I had all of my possessions—my bow, arrows, dagger, compass, and food—I grabbed my homemade wineskin and walked to find a puddle of rainwater.

Bending over at the smooth mirror of water, I observed my reflection with mild interest. I was not and never had been too concerned about my appearance; but considering my features at what I counted to be twenty-and-one winters—pasty white complexion, too-red lips, too-dark eyebrows, too-black hair, and gaunt cheekbones—it seemed to make sense that I would have been. I accepted that this was how I looked, and no amount of products would change that. My eyes were often complimented; they were perhaps my only truly acceptable feature, a startlingly bright blue with lashes as dark as my hair.

Frowning at the latter, I pulled my dagger from my belt and held it up to the raven locks. Running a hand through my hair, I decided that waist-length was quite too long; my pale hand hesitated for a split second—memories like my dream flitted through my mind, images of a laughing young woman, a towering city and a walking tree—before my hand slipped slightly, cutting my hand from the wrist to the forefinger across the back of my hand. The sudden pain snapped me away and, before I could think differently, I gathered all of my hair in my good hand and whipped the blade upward, as close to my neck as I could without cutting myself again. The locks fell limp, and, sighing, I dropped the hair into the water, reveling in the feel of the warm air against the back of my neck. I shook my head, my hair now only a hand long from the crown of my head.

The corners of my mouth twitched, but it wasn't a smile—not yet. I dipped the wineskin into the puddle, filling it almost halfway. Grabbing my pack, I jumped to my feet, grabbed my compass, and took off running north.


	2. Adventure

**This chapter is a bit shakily done, due to my family playing basketball around me while I write half of it, but I'll try to improve. Also, introduction of Martin I think YES.**

**~AF**

Sometimes, perhaps, we are allowed to get lost that we may find the right person to ask directions of. ~Robert Brault

**Song: Welcome Home, Radical Face**

Legs aching, lungs burning, eyes and mouth watering, I stumbled to a halt before I collapsed of exhaustion. My knees gave out, and I crashed heavily down to the grass. With a sigh hard enough to be a sob, I snatched my wineskin of water (a bit less than half, since I had used a bit during my run) and drank several mouthfuls to quench a bit of my thirst that was nowhere near quenched. I laid on my back, massaging my sore thighs and feet. The cut on the back of my hand had begun to bleed again, turning the rough bandage I had wrapped around it a splotchy red. Swallowing dry air and pressing the wound against the ground, I took out my map to look at it for a few more moments before looking back up to observe my surroundings.

The long, dark green grass of Valenwood had given way to shorter, lighter fields and rolling hills infested with knee-high bushes sporting tiny purple flowers. There was the faint sound of rushing water from behind me, which I assumed to be the river that created more than half the border between Cyrodiil and Valenwood. Patches of long-stemmed, pink-and-white flowers dotted the ground near boulders; more unfamiliar, hardy plants of varying colors were scattered across the ground.

After I had caught my breath, I took another quick drink and started off north once more, now walking. Clearly, I had passed beyond the border into Cyrodiil. If there were soldiers guarding the border, which I doubted, I must have slipped past them on accident. Rats were plentiful along the border, as well as a lone, skinny wolf that had decided I looked a pretty little morsel; none gave me much trouble, except that my bandage came off during my skirmish with the wolf, leaving an open cut exposed to the elements—not the best thing to have.

My sojourn continued for hours into the day, allowing me to watch the sun fall from its position above my head, accompanied by the constant, padding sound of my feet against the ground. The sight of new plants gave me the unstoppable urge to harvest as many of them as I could fit into my pack, then discard several to fit more of another in next to the previous one. Eventually, after much gathering of plants, making of potions and hours of walking, the sun slipped below the horizon.

As the darkness grew, I grew more and more uneasy about walking at night. The dark was not a cause of fear for me—on the contrary, it was more comfort than anything. However, I was, in fact, in unfamiliar territory and wandering around in the wilderness in the dead of the night seemed very unwise in my book. After several more minutes of walking (where I kept my bow strung and ready), I found a tall, flat rock formation that was at least two meters high. With a bit of a nod to myself, I slung my bow back over my shoulder and quickly scaled the boulder. Without bothering to put any sort of bedding down (useless anyway, because I had none), I laid on the still sun-warmed rock and slept.

[:::]

_Two Bosmer sat on the wooden pathway circling around the tree city, their arms resting on a low rope railing as their legs dangled over the edge. They were talking, about life, and simple things, and still more mysterious subjects. The topic of what lay beyond their home city of Falinesti came up—it was something neither of the youths had before thought of._

"_Have you ever been down there, Nulem?" The girl asked, pointed at the dark grass far, far below. At fourteen winters, she was all elbows and knees and ribcage-length hair, with scratched, pale skin and only just the beginnings of a curve between her hips and breasts. _

_The boy leaned out to look down, shaggy hair dangling off his scalp as his torso went at a ninety degree angle with the ground. "No, Father says I'm not ready yet. _He's _been hunting down there before, though, and told me stories about it. There are other lands, he said, for thousands of miles in other directions. Provinces with fields of gold and countries with acres of swamp." The boy grinned devilishly. Over the years his shoulders had broadened a tiny bit, and the blond in his hair had become less pronounced, darkening to a light brown._

"_There's even a land that's iced over." He continued excitedly. "Father said it snows there every day." _

_Vala's eyes were alight. The revelation of new lands, especially one of ice, was a dream for her. Grabbing Nulem's arm, she shook him and asked, "Do you think we could see them someday?"_

_The tiniest hint of pink crept into the boy's cheeks as he tore his attention away from the hand on his arm to look at her. "Y-you mean the other provinces?" His voice cracked sharply when he spoke the word 'provinces'._

"_Yes, of course I mean the other provinces!" She grinned. "We should go adventuring! We'll be the most honest, decent adventurers, crawling through dungeons and battling monsters, all the while seeing the new lands, the swamps and the fields of gold and oh, the snow!" She fell on her back to stare up at the azure sky, black hair spreading out on the wood. A soft smile graced her lips as images of fantastical lands danced before her eyes._

"_I want to go adventuring, Nulem." She said dreamily, looking up and over at her friend. "And you're coming with me—we'll become famous!"_

[:::]

The prod of a stick woke me. I sat up, a warm breeze rolling through my short hair and whisking away the dream as I took in my surroundings. Safely on top of a boulder, I could see the walls of what I assumed to be Skingrad in the distance. Smiling, I stood and was about to take off when I saw that I was not alone.

On the flat top of the boulder next to me was a small child, looking only old enough to speak. Across his exposed arms, below ripped sleeves, were smears of charcoal-black. A long, thin cut was bleeding its way down his face still round with youth. He held a long, crooked stick in one hand as he looked at me with terror in his eyes.

I smiled slightly, reaching out to the boy. "I will not hurt you, young one." The second my hand touched his pudgy one, he leapt back sharply. Smiling again, I asked, "Could you perhaps tell me what city that is?" I pointed up at the stone walls.

Green eyes widened in horror. "Don't go there." The boy's voice shook—he seemed about to cry. "Don't go there."

With that the child bounded nimbly away, bare feet tearing across the forest brush and before I could call him back, he was gone. Furrowing my brow, I looked up to the city—for a moment I thought I saw a whirl of black smoke above the walls; but then it was gone, leaving me thinking that I had simply imagined it. Shrugging, I stood, stretched, jumped down from my sleeping place, and set off toward the city.

[:::]

I _knew _something had been wrong—it always was. That High Elf told me the whole story—damn my compass, I had gone too far west. Far, far, _far _west. Perhaps my curiosity had gotten the best of me, my urge to see more of the world. Either way, my curiosity was now far too powerful to be swallowed; I had to find out firsthand what this was about.

The sky grew a deeper and deeper shade of red, like blood pouring across the sky, as I moved higher up the switchbacks.

[:::]

My tongue darted out to wet my lips as I plucked the string of my bow, my fingers itching with the will to fight these foreign creatures. Three of the skinny, fanged creatures threw handfuls of fire at the guards behind me as I rolled out of the way of one flaming projectile, nocking and letting fly my first and only arrow, which caught one of the scamps in the shoulder. It stumbled back, knocking it off balance long enough for the guards to finish it off. Taking back my arrow, I skirted around the gaping, fiery maw and slipped through the city gate behind it.

My mouth dropped open slightly. _What happened here? _Houses, still smoking, lay ruined with whole stories ripped off. Waning flames still crawled up the buildings even though they looked hardly hot enough to cook meat. Smoke curled up in choking clouds from the remains of the city, creating a ceiling of toxic black below the already stained, red sky the Oblivion gate had installed. Roaring, burning piles of splintered wood and other such rubbish had been thrown into piles, and something in one of them was giving off such a horrid stanch that I could taste it—like burning animal shit.

More of the thin-furred, thick-skinned scamps were wandering around the entrance to (what I had discovered to be) Kvatch, as well as a new enemy to me—a chest-high, scaled beast that walked on two talon-adorned feet. Horns protruded from its head, and it had a sort of hooked, black beak and short, curved arms that were curled almost uselessly against its sickly green chest.

Licking my lips again, I swung my bow back over my back and pulled out my dagger, not wanting to use all my arrows yet. The blade parallel with my forearm, I waved the weapon tauntingly, but there was no need—one of the reptilian creatures screeched and charged, armored head bent down. I jumped out of the way at the last second and swung up. Blood burst from the side of the beast's neck, flowing into a puddle as it wobbled back and forth for a moment, unsteady, before turning suddenly and catching my side with one of the sharp horns crowning its skull. Hissing, I put my hand to my side and watched it come back bright red, but had no time to dwell on the wound as I ducked to avoid a crackling ball of fire that soared over my head.

Turning, I stabbed directly down into the back of the reptile's neck, ran the blade down its spine several inches before pulling out the dripping dagger. Without needing to see my prey fall, I sheathed my knife, pulled off my bow, dodged another fireball, and shot an arrow directly into the chest of the perpetrator. The scamp staggered from the blow, but showed sharp teeth, spat at me, and shot more fire from its clawed hands.

_What kind of beasts are these? _I wondered incredulously to myself as I shot a second arrow into the scamp's chest, almost directly next to my first, before pulling out my dagger and slashing the throat of another who was unfortunately within my reach.

With all but one creature killed, I sprinted the last couple meters to the door of the city's chapel and slipped in as quietly and quickly as I could. Leaning against the wood of the door inside the building, I felt it vibrate slightly from the force of a seconds-late fireball hit it. When nothing but silence followed, I sighed and turned around to face the people in the chapel.

The building had been made into something of a camp. Blankets were spread on the floor, beneath scratched silver plates and lumps of cheese and bread. A small handful of men and women in tattered clothes were milling about, sleeping, nibbling on bits of food or water, and above all, praying. They would kneel at the circular alter draped in red cloth for a moment, hands clasped, then stand up and make their way back to one of the blankets. Every one of them had a drawn, haggard look to them, with bags under their eyes and soot on their skin. I spotted an Imperial man standing near the alter who looked more, and less, affected then the others. I slipped into a darker corner of the building so I could observe him for several moments without being observed myself. A sharp sting hit my abdomen, but I ignored it and began dissecting my "prey".

The man was dressed in blue robes, and seemed to be doing his best to talk to the more shaken men and women. At first glance, he seemed to be steadfast despite what had happened, but if one looked a bit closer, one could tell that he was the least composed of all. Even I, someone who has never seen him, could tell that he was immensely tired and sad, far beyond his years. But what I could tell others noticed was that underneath all of that was anger. It was simmering, steaming, but he was obviously burning and ready to lash out.

When the townspeople approached him, he smiled sadly and always seemed to say something that made them nod hopefully, usually accompanied by a pat on the shoulder. But the longer I observed, the more I noticed the cautious behavior of the refugees. They kept their distance from the Imperial, though not always physically, but there was a certain amount of wariness in their eyes, as though they were afraid that if they said something he would suddenly explode, the simmering rage underneath erupting out the top.

My observations were interrupted as I saw a Redguard woman approach me from the side. She wore silver armor with a fox-like crest on the front, as well as a long sword gleaming at her side. I turned to silently greet her just as she spoke.

"How are things out there?" She said immediately, with no formal introduction or greeting. Who really cares, when this is the state of things? "Did anyone get out? Things went so fast . . . it was all we could do to make sure we got as many people as we could in here, to safety."

"There are survivors," I informed her. She was obviously one of the remaining city guards. "But things are looking very bad."

The woman nodded, running a hand over her black, braided hair. She looked at me suddenly, as if for the first time. She frowned at my torso for a moment before looking back up at me. "Do you need help?"

_Help? _I followed her gaze to see that she was staring at a rip in armor of patchwork furs, where the torn skins were soaked in a bright red, hot liquid. It was the spot where the reptile beast had caught me off guard—I had no idea how I had missed the gash, but I must have been bleeding the entire time, because I was beginning to feel faint from blood loss. Very faint.

Black swarmed in at the corners of my vision. Pressing a hand to my forehead, I put my arm against the pillar nearest me in a futile attempt to steady myself; it was no use—the black in the corners of my eyes covered my vision, my thought, my being . . . and I felt no more.


	3. Choices

**I'm trying my best, people. I'm not the greatest writer. Enjoy, review, etc.**

**Song: 1 2 3 4, Feist**

_The girl was upside-down, long black hair dangling away from her scalp. Her legs were wrapped around the tree limb, her body swinging dangerously over open air, and the only thing to catch her was the ground hundreds of feet below. A practical pair of pants and shirt hung slightly from her curved body, that of a young woman of eighteen winters. A large knife was being tossed between her pale hands, the jagged metal hitting her practiced palms with no effect. The sun beamed down on her as she swung to and fro, making the green leaves on the branches around her glitter and shine. That was why she liked this part of the city—no one but herself ever ventured up here. There were no dwellings or shops, meaning it was a seemingly useless collection of strong, level, perfectly climbable branches. It was her ideal place of solitude._

_Her pointed ears pricked up as she heard familiar footsteps thumping against the wood of the tree, several feet from where she was hanging. Smiling, she swung back, forth, and then flipped off the branch and onto the walkway that spiraled around the mammoth tree. There was a cry of surprise, and a peal of feminine laughter as the girl landed neatly on her feet in front of her friend, still holding the knife._

_As the girl giggled uncontrollably, the young man simply stared for a moment, face flushed, before laughing as well. He flipped his light brown hair out of his eyes as Vala extended a hand to help him up. The man glanced at it, smirked, then grabbed it—instead of standing, however, he pulled as hard as he could on Vala's delicate, calloused hand. The girl yelped from the unexpected assault and tumbled down, landing squarely on top of Nulem. The latter made a huffing _oof _and made to hold his stomach, but quickly realized that he was about to put his arm over the lithe elf laying on him._

_Vala smirked as she saw her friend's face turn several shades of pink before finally settling on a flushed red. Nulem glanced uncomfortably around, trying desperately not to make eye contact. Vala's smirk gradually turned into a sad frown, and began to lever herself off of him. In a moment of panic, Nulem threw a hand across her back, pulling her back to him._

_Vala made a pained, exasperated face. "Nulem, don't . . ."_

_Nulem gently tightened his arm around her. "You've known this since we were young, Vala." He pressed his forehead against hers. "Please. Don't reject me now."_

_The girl closed her eyes and shook her head. "And you've known what I've been planning since we were young." She pulled away from him. "If you intend on holding me back . . . if you intend on keeping me here against my will . . . then you can never have me."_

_Turning her head away from his heartbreak, Vala jumped off of Nulem and tore away, further down into the city._

[:::]

A stabbing pain hit my side, making me surface from the dream abruptly. I experienced a moment of disorientation before another throb of dull pain swept through my torso. Grimacing, I pressed a hand against the source of the pain. Rough cloth bandages were wrapped relatively tightly around me, absorbing the blood that had previously caused me to pass out. A dry cough pushed its way out of my sore throat; I rubbed my neck, though I knew that would do nothing to help.

With a quiet groan, I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to forget my dream. That had been one of the many moments in my history that I wished to forget; now, it seemed, all of that was coming back to haunt me. The choices I made . . . they were definitely something I wanted to leave behind me.

A warm hand rested on my shoulder. "Come on now, get up." Something metal pressed against my mouth—a cup. "Drink some water. You must be thirsty." I shook my head against the cup in refusal. Despite being weak, I still knew basic survival skills and one of those was to not drink from a mysterious glass offered by an unidentified person. So instead of drinking, I rubbed my eyes and sat up to get a grip on where I was.

I was lying on one of the thin blankets in the chapel in Kvatch. An abandoned, half-eaten plate of bread and cheese sat forlornly next to me, along with a couple wilting grapes and a metal pitcher of slightly murky water. The dark-skinned woman from before was kneeling next to me in the manner of one who has been moving around quite a bit; one armored knee was on the ground, the other supporting her left elbow. In her right hand was a dented metal cup that she held up to me.

"Drink up, girl." She pushed the cup towards me again, and this time I weakly accepted it and took a careful sip. The water tasted like dust and grime, but it was water.

I nodded in appreciation. "How . . ." I coughed slightly. "How long have I been asleep?"

The woman shrugged slightly. "Five hours, maybe less. That baby Clannfear hit you pretty good."

_That must be what that reptile creature was. _I thought, making a mental note to myself._ But how did she know just by the wound?_

When I voiced my question aloud, the woman replied with the voice of one who has dealt with many wounds. "Scamp claws make thinner, shallower cuts." She pointed at the most blood-stained part of my bandage. "Clannfear leave deeper, clumsier gashes, because they use their heads to injure."

I was about to nod in understanding when I spotted the blue-robed man from earlier, standing tiredly a few strides away. Frowning, I turned back to the armored woman and asked, "Who is that, over there?"

She turned to glance at him, and then faced me again. "That's Brother Martin. He was a priest here for a long time before . . ." She trailed off, but I knew what she meant; before the Gate opened.

The woman looked back at me with a look of sudden realization on her face. "I don't think I ever introduced myself." She held out her hand, which I shook. "My name's Tierra."

"It's nice to meet you," I said quietly. "But if you don't mind, I think I'll be going now."

Tierra frowned at me as I stood. "Are you sure? It would be safer for you to stay here, especially considering that little gash you've got."

I nodded determinedly. No 'little gash' was going to keep me here. Trying my best to ignore a sudden head rush, I bent down and collected my pack, dagger, bow, and quiver of arrows. As I moved to pick up my armor, I noticed a tear a few inches long in the cuirass on the side that had been neatly sewed up. _That must be where I was hit. _I donned it quickly, rubbing the familiar patchwork furs while being careful not to disturb my bandages. With a last glance at Brother Martin, I made my way to the door and quietly slipped out and into the smoking, ruined courtyard. There was another Clannfear, but it was facing away from me—I snuck away as quietly as possible, and successfully avoided another scrape with the thing.

[…]

The remaining Kvatch guards were still standing behind their roughly-made barricade of wooden stakes, swords drawn and bows nocked. They nodded at me as I passed, mild confusion on their faces because of my slightly casual presence in the smoking city. As I padded behind them, another scamp materialized from the fiery Gate, and all but one charged off to battle the oncoming threat. The remaining guard, a lean man with a rusty sword, was enraptured with the fight and was concentrating most of his energy to anxiously rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Just before I was out of earshot, the man fell back on his heels, and I heard a distinct jingle of coins in a purse. My feet froze. Turning around slowly, my gaze fell to the man's hip, where a heavy-looking cloth purse dangled loosely from his belt. My teeth dug into my lip, my fingers clutched at the emptiness of my own purse, and my hand moved subconsciously towards my dagger.

_No! No, you're starting anew; you won't fall into this again. Stop. _I fell into a practiced crouch, my hand dropped down to clutch the hilt of my dagger. _Stop. _My feet moved silently; I glanced up to make sure the guards were still absorbed in the battle. Another scamp had followed the first, buying me more time. _Stop. _I was close enough to the guard to touch him, and he had no idea I was there. I pulled out my knife and empty purse, all my moves silent. _Stop! _In a swift, single move, my knife cut through the thin cloth of the purse, and every one of them fell into my own that was held underneath. With an accomplished smile, I stood and sauntered away, already dreaming of a full, fresh meal.

"Hey!"

I turned. The skinny man was glaring at me, holding his now-vacant, slit-open purse. "Guards, we've got a cutpurse!" He hollered over his shoulder. Of course, at that very moment the scamps had been killed and were not regenerating, so all four well-trained, fully armored, highly agitated guards were now free to chase me down.

The guards looked to where we were standing, and in a frantic moment of panic as the man opened his mouth to yell again, I wound back my arm and, faster than even my eye could follow, hurled the knife with all my strength. The blade rotated through the air, gleaming with deadly intent, slower than should be possible. End over end, so slow . . . but then time sped up again, and the blade lodged itself with brute force in the tragically exposed neck of the skinny guard. Blood boiled gruesomely in his mouth as he choked his last, clutching futilely at his punctured esophagus; his body crumpled almost instantly, thick red liquid pooling around his paling throat and soaking into the dry ground. Swearing to myself at my own stupidity, I dashed to the body, snatched the bloodied knife and sprinted away, painfully aware of the jingling of coins at my hip.

I was barely twenty paces away when I heard a yell from behind me. I risked a brief glance behind me, which revealed that the guards were giving chase, and gaining fast. For a moment I wondered why I was running so slowly, but a stab of pain to my side reminded me. My breathing became ragged, and my paces smaller and weaker. My next glance over my shoulder was a grave mistake.

The closest guard, the captain, had been closer than I had realized; he reached forward and clamped an armored fist tight around my upper arm. I gasped in pain and thrashed, punching at the exposed face under the metal helmet and scratching uselessly at the hand around my arm.

"Got you now, _murderer._" The captain hissed venomously to me and raised his sword. Knowing that I was probably going to die or at least get injured, I made a last attempt at freedom and shot my arm out, actually landing a blow to the glaring face of the captain; he growled out something profane as a trickle of red dripped from a cut near his eye. Puzzled, I strained a glance at my hand; my thumb nail was uneven and jagged, which wasn't the worst advantage to have when fighting hand-to-hand.

I saw a flash of metal that looked suspiciously like the hilt of a sword, and agony shot through my head, and then spread down my neck in burning tendrils. White spots flashed in front of my eyes; but all my senses were then completely nullified by crippling darkness.

[…]

The first thing I felt was pain. A throbbing, pulsing pain coming from my side and head. My limbs felt numb and sore, and when I tried to move the pain in my head prodded me again. After a few aching minutes, I was able to sit up and at least see where I was.

It was a tiny little room—no, a cell. A barred door and a splintery wooden table and stool were the only objects in the cold room, other than a few rusty chains hanging from the walls. How . . . why was I in prison? Where am . . . how did I get here? _What happened? Calm down, think through this. _My name is Vala. I was born in Valenwood, which is south of Cyrodiil and west of Elsweyr. I took a journey north into Cyrodiil after . . .

I stopped my recollection. It was not that I did not remember what had happened next—quite the contrary—it was something I wished to forget. But with my being in prison for gods know what, it seems I would have all the time in the world to come to grips with my decisions, and what resulted in them.

**Let it be known that the next chapter will be a long one, mostly memory but also more of present-time Vala and prison and such. Review, my lovelies! **


	4. Blood

**Welcome back, the few people that read this. Thank you to Arty once again for being the singular reviewer. Well, back to it, I suppose. Hope you don't mind the italics but I can't think of any other way to write this without it being intensely confusing or have really long author's notes involved. **

**Just a quick, short chapter, but meaningful nonetheless. Enjoy!**

Although every man believes that his decisions and resolutions involve the most multifarious factors, in reality they are mere oscillation between flight and longing. ~Herman Broch

**Song: Believe, The Bravery**

_The night loomed overhead, watching her exploits with quiet disapproval. Stars winked mischievously at the woman, though she held no respect for them tonight. It was time to leave. Her bare feet made no sound against the solid wood of the tree as she warily made her way down, being careful not to disturb any of the sleeping—or awake—Bosmer in their houses. _

_Waist length, raven hair was pulled into a loose braid and slung over her shoulder so as to keep out of the way. Her clothes were as dark as she could get them, and as tight fitting as she could make them without being uncomfortable or impractical. Her bow was slung over her back, accompanied by a quiver of arrows and a knife at her belt. _

_She was still high up, but the night was dark and she was fast; there would not be much challenge. But it was . . . something one did not do. Falinesti was their home, and there was no reason to leave. Nulem had been right on that account; all they could ever want was either supplied or already present. But the world was not something she wanted. It was something she needed, and there was nothing that could get in her way now, not the frowning elders, not the crippling height of Falinesti, not even—_

"_What are you doing?" _

_She squeezed her eyes shut, turned around, and looked. There, sure enough, was Nulem. It was hard to predict anything else; Nulem was not the sneakiest of elves, but he always seemed to know exactly where she was and had a knack for finding her, no matter how well she hid. It was like a game, one they had played since they were children. _

"_Nulem . . ." She whispered threateningly. "Don't get in my way. I do not want to have to hurt you, but I will if I must."_

"_Vala, I won't let you do this." He took another step nearer to her from his spot a few feet higher up the path around the tree trunk. "You can't leave. What about your mother?"_

_Vala snorted. "Mother abandoned me as a lost cause longer ago than I'd care to remember." The woman glanced up at her childhood friend. "I've known you for as long as I can remember, Nulem. But not even you can stop me here."_

_Nulem moved closer, close enough to touch now. "Please . . ."_

"_Stop!" Vala hissed, giving a guarded glance at the houses deeper into the tree. "I've told you this before. Just . . . get away, go back to sleep. You cannot stop me, so you might as well leave now."_

"_Please . . ." He reached out and grabbed her arm tightly. Without hesitating, Vala swung her free fist out and it crashed into his nose with a sickening crunch. His grip loosened considerably as he gripped his broken, blood-gushing bridge in pain. Seeing her chance, she spun and ran, tripping slightly as she flew down the smooth wood. There were footsteps behind her, and getting closer; Nulem had always been faster. A surprised yelp sprung from her throat as his hand brushed against her arm once more—foolishly, without thinking, she ripped the knife from her belt and swung in panic. There was a resulting groan and the dull sound of a body tumbling down. _

_Vala froze, the adrenaline draining from her veins as she stared in horror at her bleeding friend. She fell to her knees and put a shaking hand above his mouth. _Thank the gods. _He was breathing, but judging from the long gash across his middle that fact was going to be easily reversed soon. He had fallen on his side, so she pulled him onto his back and looked frantically up at the carved houses. A candle had flickered to life in the glassless window of one; Vala jumped to her feet and glanced at the open night beyond. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as her gaze flickered between her dying friend and her freedom. Finally, she cupped her hands and yelled as loud as she could for aid. _

_The candlelight in the window grew nearer to the door. Nodding at the unconscious body of Nulem, she sprinted away again, flying freely through the night as she wiped the blood from her dagger._

[:::]

I gasped and jolted upright with a violent start. The wooden stool I had been sleeping in scraped against the pale dirt that was the floor of my prison cell. Massaging my cheek, I felt light grooves where the table had pressed into my face, which I realized with fury was wet from tears. No . . . not tears, blood. Gingerly feeling along my face, I found the source: a small line of a cut just below my eye. I pressed my fingertips against it, the sharp sting waking me up slightly more. Absently, I wondered how I had gotten such a little wound. Examining the table, I felt along the rough wood until I came across a protruding nail that stuck at an odd angle, not far from where I had been sleeping. _Clever, table, clever. _

Standing, I popped my neck and stretched my free arm, the one not holding my cheek, towards the stony grey ceiling, sighing in relief as the sore joints cracked. After a few minutes, I shook out my dirty clothes as much as I could without stripping and sat back down. My hand was sufficiently bloody now, but the scratch had scabbed over, leaving only a few brownish streaks across my face or, that was probably the case, but I couldn't be sure without something reflective to look at. Wiping my hand on my pants, I glanced up at the barred door when I heard noises. Clanging keys jingling in a lock, and low murmurs. I caught the words "dead" and "know", but the rest of it was unintelligible. Licking my lips slightly, I leaned back in the chair to catch a glance at what was going on.

Frowning, I caught sight of several guards donned in shining armor flanking an elderly man, the latter of whom was wearing a royal purple robe trimmed with thick white fur. The group stopped at the door, conversing quietly to each other except for the wealthy-looking man. Something red glittered at the edge of my vision, and I glanced at his chest to see a blood red gem slightly bigger than my fist hanging from his neck. It was shaped like a diamond and set in gold, framed by more, smaller jewels of green and yellow. When I looked back up, the man was staring at me with a curious expression on his face. As if he was seeing a long-lost friend for the first time in years.

[…]

_I witnessed Emperor Uriel Septim's assassination. _

A shivering cough forced its way from my throat, my hands quivering from my journey through the sewers. It had all been a blur, filled with orange fires, rats and goblins. My pale feet were bare, and dirty clothes hung from my thin form. Something told me that there was armor I could have stolen . . . there were certainly weapons, which contributed greatly to my survival . . . but I had just been too eager to get out of that horrid place. Damn Bosmer blood. It never served me well in small places.

_Before he died, the emperor gave me the Amulet of Kings. _

Blood was spattered in delicate circles across my knees and legs, dripping from my dagger, staining a handful of arrows. Clenched painfully tightly in my left hand was a heavy red stone framed in gold and gems, attached to a strong gilded chain. My hand, and therefore the Amulet, was slick with blood as well.

_He told me to take it to someone named Jauffre, and that Jauffre would know how to find his last surviving son. _

I took a shaky breath, looking around me. My now-bare feet dug into rough green grass mixed with white sand. Mountains lined the horizon, a tumble of pearly ruins across a blue river in front of me. Turning around, I saw a towering pillar miles in the distance, the tops of walls just barely visible over a green hill. I remembered what I was tasked with, and began rummaging in my pack for my map to see where Weynon Priory was. After locating the Imperial City, I traced a finger to approximately where I was, and then continued to draw an invisible line along the roads to the Priory. Nodding slowly to myself, I stowed away the paper, checked my compass, and set off in that direction.

_He warned that the assassins were in the service of the Lord of Destruction._


	5. Encounter

**Okay, I know the last chapter was a bit short, but I'll make it up to you guys this chapter. Pinky promise. There's a seriously awesome twist in this chapter (that I'm not sure I can pull off) anyway, so grab some soda and/or a bottle of vodka and take a seat. This is gonna be good. **

**Thank you, Arty, for being the beautiful singular reviewer! –Hugs- **

**P.S. Guess who makes his debut appearance? I'll give you a clue: It starts with L and rhymes with 'pants.'**

I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear. ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

**Song: Death and the Maiden, Franz Peter Schubert**

When was the last time I had slept? I couldn't remember anymore. It was times like these that made me seriously consider buying some sort of horse. It was a luxury that did not usually appear in Valenwood, or at least, I had never encountered it. Right now, riding a horse seemed like paradise compared to walking. My feet dragged across the ground, aching and burning from the exercise. My eyes drooped tiredly, deprived of sleep for days on end. Going this long without rest had been cripplingly unwise, though rational thought seemed silly at this point, so close to my destination. The Priory couldn't be far away.

The last slip of sun disappeared over the horizon, leaving only a mournfully pink glow that was fading fast. I was about to fervently curse my luck when my prayers were answered—I walked out from around a boulder and suddenly I was in the courtyard of what could only be Weynon Priory. It was surprisingly large, though I had missed it completely from a distance. I rubbed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, groaning tiredly. How much longer could I keep this up? When I entered the Priory, I was greeted by a candlelit foyer and a slightly curt monk asking what I wanted.

When I asked about Jauffre he directed me upstairs, to a white-haired, balding man sitting behind a desk, scribbling on a sheet of parchment with a grey quill. I walked clumsily up the wooden steps, my vision going black for a moment. When I looked back up, Jauffre was walking to where I had apparently passed out on the floor.

"By the Nine, child, are you all right?" He asked cautiously.

I began to nod, then thought better of it and shook my head. No, I was not all right. I held up the Amulet that was still clutched tightly in my hand. I felt the weight lifted from my hand, and saw the strange expression on the monk's face—some mix between suspicion and incredulity.

"How did you . . ." He started to ask, but my eyes fell closed, and this time did not open.

[:::]

_It was only flashes now. Full scenes, complete memories, they didn't exist. Just flashes now. Brief glimpses of . . . what? Spatters of blood, a glittering red jewel, purple robes, brown hair, black hair, rats, arrows, and a beetle? Silly, meaningless objects, really . . . all but that knife. That knife, accompanied by a horrible, flowing pool of blood . . . the flicker of a candle . . . a flicker of horror . . . a flicker of uncertainty, and an inexplicable urge to pray. All made even bitterer somehow, as it was shadowed in the haunting feeling of being watched. _

[:::]

When I came to, I was lying under a slightly threadbare blanket on a tiny bed. The little room was occupied only by the bed, a bookcase, a chest, a cupboard, and a small desk. I blinked mutely at my surroundings, unsure of where I was. The last thing I remembered was . . . the Amulet of Kings, smeared in brown, dry blood. I had to deliver it to We . . . Wen . . . Wey . . . Weynon Priory! Yes, that's it. The Emperor had told me to give it to someone by the name of Ja . . . Juf . . . Jauffre, that's it. I furrowed my brow and massaged my temples. _Is something wrong with me? _My memory had always been exceptional; why was it suddenly giving out now?

I threw off my blanket and turned to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing stray pieces of short black hair out of my face. My dirty clothes from jail had followed me here, just as dusty and grimy as I remembered. Yawning, I wondered how long I had been out. Days? That would be unfortunate.

What memory had it been this time? Killing Nulem? No . . . no, that had been in prison. No, there had been no theme this time. _Damn. _It was slipping away, like raindrops off a blade. There were only two things that remained, burned into my mind's eye—spots of blood, and the feeling that someone was watching me.

A chill ran up my spine and crawled across my scalp. It had been a dream, just a dream . . . _then why do I still feel that I'm being watched? _

[…]

After shaking off my creeping dread, I moved from the bed into the top floor of the Priory. It was really quite quaint—it did not remind me of a religious building; it had the air more of a book shop. As I emerged from the room, Jauffre looked up from a book he had in his hand. I noticed the Amulet sitting close to his arm, carefully placed.

"You're awake." Jauffre said, not unkindly. "Good. I would like to ask you some questions."

I sighed quietly. "Very well."

Jauffre nodded and gestured to a seat that faced the chair behind the desk, which he took after I sat in my designated spot.

"I simply want to know a few things." Jauffre started, clasping his hands together. "How did you get the Amulet, and why are you here?"

I licked my lips, recalling the final conversation with the Emperor in the sewers. "It was given to me by Uriel S . . . Septim, before he was assassinated. I . . . I was there." I silently cursed another almost-lapse in memory. Jauffre raised an eyebrow, but said nothing; an obvious sign for me to continue. "He told me to come find you . . . He said there was another heir."

Jauffre nodded slightly. "Where are you from, if I may ask?"

"Falinesti, in Valenwood. I journeyed here for my own reasons."

The old monk nodded again. "Then it seems I have little choice but to trust you . . .?"

"Vala."

"Vala, then. I trust that I have your silence about what I am to tell you? I do not wish for this to get out before it's time."

I nodded. Besides, who was I going to tell?

Jauffre smiled slightly. "Thank you. The Gods must have truly graced us this day. As for the matter at hand . . ." He lowered his voice. "There is, in fact, another heir. You see, one night I was in my chambers when the Emperor knocked on my door and presented me with a newborn child. He requested that I take him away, somewhere safe. I knew that the child was his son. I raised him here, with the Emperor checking in with me on his progress occasionally. Some years ago I sent him off to be a priest at Kvatch. I believe he is known there as Brother Martin."

Something flickered in the back of my mind, like . . . a memory of a memory._ Where have I heard that name?_ Shaking off yet another strange feeling that morning, I said to Jauffre, "You should know that before the Emperor was killed, he said to me, 'close shut the jaws of Oblivion'. Would you happen to know what this means?"

The monk thought for a moment. "He seemed to perceive some threat from the plane of Oblivion, though we are protected by the Dragonfires. Though now that the Emperor is dead with no new heir crowned . . . I suppose it is possible. We should all be on our guard from now on."

I stood, feeling that I had both overstayed my welcome and gained enough information from Jauffre. "Thank you, Jauffre." I said quietly. "But I must go now. Martin seems our best hope."

Jauffre nodded, not seeming at all surprised that I knew his name. "Very well. Bring him back safely, Vala, for he is essential to lighting the Dragonfires. I will keep the Amulet here with me—it will be safer. Now, off you go. I will see you in a few days."

[…]

The journey to Kvatch was as exhausting as the journey to Weynon Priory, though now that I had a definite goal in mind it seemed a shorter time. I made good progress the first day, getting about a fourth of the way to the city in just twelve hours without using the roads. Night had fallen, and being in unfamiliar territory at night seemed a bad idea, so I searched around a bit until I found a good tree to lie under. I didn't have a real bedroll to put down, and finding a random camp seemed unlikely. So there was no choice but to sleep under the stars.

[:::]

_Knock, knock! Who is it? Who knows! Who, indeed? There it is again! The eyes on the back of my head. No, the eyes watching the back of my head! Ha ha! _

[:::]

Something prickled on the back of my neck. The sense that I was not alone.

"You sleep rather soundly for a mur—"

I gasped and leapt up instinctively, colliding violently with the form that had been standing over me. Whether from shock or weakness, the latter of which I somehow doubted, both the figure and I fell in an ungainly heap on the dry, yellow grass. Before I could even get a proper grip on what had just happened, however, the person, whom I now realized to be a man, below me beat me to it with the cool cut of metal against my throat. The razor edge of the weapon rested against my jaw, the point moving threateningly down to my throat. I felt a single, hot orb of blood run down the side of my neck, leaving an itching trail and disappearing below my collar.

"Get off of me if you wish to live." He growled in my ear. I shivered and obediently fell down into the grass, shocked. In a flash the man was standing, hiding away the blade in his black robes. I stood as well, keeping a careful distance as I observed my unexpected company.

He was an Imperial, from what I could tell, with a strong jaw and dark eyes that I could not yet tell the color of. He was donned in black from his hood to his black gloves, and even most of his face was cast in shadow. The air about him seemed chill, as though an icy breeze had swept across the plain only now. Something about him put me on edge, and I unconsciously found myself reaching for my knife. Knowing this was probably not the wisest idea, I crossed my arms instead.

"You better start talking, friend." I said curtly but quietly. I realized, completely out of context with what was happening, that I spoke quieter than anyone I had come across, from the Emperor to Jauffre. Perhaps it was being among trees for so long.

An eyebrow raised slightly, but other than that the man's face remained mostly expressionless, except for a hint of dark humor. "Very well. My name is Lucien Lachance. I am a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. And you, you are a cold-blooded killer, capable of—"

"Excuse me?" I asked, raising my voice—which was really normal speaking tone for most people. "I have not killed _anyone._"

The Imperial's eye twitched slightly in obvious annoyance, and I took a small, careful step back. I may have considerable memory loss, but that did not mean I was an imbecile. Someone like this man was not to be meddled with.

He continued, though I could tell his patience was running low. "The Night Mother has been watching you, and she is most pleased. Now I am here to make an offering. An opportunity for you to join our rather unique family."

I kept my face straight, but inside my mind was whirring. Where was I to go? This was the perfect time to join a faction, get to know people, make allies. Though this "Night Mother" seemed a bit ominous, as well as my being addressed as a killer, nothing seemed _too _ominous. All things considered, it did not seem a terrible—wait, I needed to find Martin! This was no time to consider what guild to become a part of . . . if this "Dark Brotherhood" could be called a guild.

"Say I wished to become part of this . . . _family._" I said, crossing my arms and trying to raise my voice slightly. "What would I have to do?"

Lachance seemed amused by this. "Either you choose to be with us, or you do not." His eyes turned to daggers, though his face was still half-smirking. "I would suggest you decide shortly."

I raised an eyebrow. "You aren't one to beat about the bush, I see." _What to do, what to do . . . What do I do? _"Very well, I'm listening."

Lachance smiled slightly. "Then heed my words, for I will not repeat them. Off the Gold Road between the towns of Kvatch and Skingrad is a small shack, inside of which dwells an Argonian by the name of Oreevan. Kill him, and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete. After you have done this, the next time you sleep in a location I deem secure, I will reveal myself once more, bearing the love of your new family."

"I'm finding it hard to imagine you bearing love . . ." I muttered, then blinked at my own sudden mood swing. When had I become so sarcastic? Clearing my throat quietly, I replied, "Fine. I will do as you request, and Oreevan will . . . will die by my hand. On one condition."

The Imperial narrowed his eyes. "One does not make bargains with the Dark Brotherhood."

"Hm. How long will I be given to complete this task?"

"You will be given . . . up to a fortnight."

I frowned and tilted my head to look under his hood a bit more. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

"I have never been asked that question before." Lachance said, sounded awkwardly business-like.

"Yes, well, rest assured I will have it accomplished within a few days. There are a several things that I must attend to, first." I finished, my thoughts moving back to the Amulet and Martin.

Lachance nodded, and then reached into his robes to withdraw a short dagger so embroidered with useless bits of yellow metal that it must surely be for looks alone. All the same, I was not taking any chances. In a flash, I had drawn my own knife, which was really only a bit of sharp steel attached to a less sharp bit of steel.

Instead of attempting to stab me, however, the killer presented the dagger to me hilt-first, gripping the short blade in one of his gloved hands. "Allow me to present you with a gift from the Dark Brotherhood. It is a virgin blade, and thirsts for blood. May it serve you well, as does your silence. Now, I must bid you farewell. I do hope we'll meet again soon."

"Yes, indeed . . ." I said quietly to myself, turning the ebony knife over in my hand. I wiped away the drying drop of blood on my neck, gently prodding the small cut on my jaw. When I looked up, the Speaker was gone.

[…]

When I arrived at Kvatch, I was surprised at the presence of tents outside, huddled at the bottom of the switchbacks leading to the city. A handful of refugee-type citizens milled about, their clothes dirty and their eyes hollow. A few talked aimlessly to each other, but the fear in the air was thick as cream. I hurried on, dodging a rambling Altmer, who sprinted past in a flurry of panic. As I ascended through the tree-lined path to the city, the sky above began to turn a curious shade of blood red. Upon closer examination, it looked more bruised than bloody, dark purplish marks staining the scarlet heavens. To be careful, I took my bow off my back and continued on.

At the top of the short mountain, the city stood smoking. A barricade of sharp sticks had been set up, and three soldiers stood behind, swords drawn. One glanced over at me as I approached, and judging from his expression, we had encountered each other before my memory block and we had not been on the best terms.

The man marched up to me, anger blazing in his eyes. "Who do you think you are, coming back here? And how did you get out of the Imperial Prison? I arrested you, and I'll be damned if I don't put you right back in jail!"

"Wait, I have no idea what you are—" But my arguments were no good. The guard, who I assumed to be the captain, made a grab for my arm, probably to put me in handcuffs. I jumped back and took off, intending on throwing him off in the city, but I stopped in my tracks when I ran past the barricade.

The ground was dead and burnt, vegetation nonexistent. Skeletons of bushes stood, as morose as a widow. Towering a few meters from the gate to the city was a flaming oval, crags of black rock jutting from the top and the area around it. Stabs of orange energy darted out from the border of the thing, creating a burning, ominous atmosphere. It looked like . . . a massive gateway, a door to another world.

Shaking myself, I sprinted forward again, barely missing the captain's hand. Licking my lips, which were cracked already from the hot air, I flew across the scorched ground and around the huge gate of fire, aiming for the gate to the city. I grabbed the iron handle and wrenched the gate open, slipped inside and slammed it closed again, listening to the curses of the captain on the other side.

"Back in position, men." I heard him muffle through the thick door, his voice heavy with contempt. "This barricade won't hold itself, and that slippery murderer is as good as dead in there. She may be able to escape prison, but a second time in the city is suicide."

_Oh, this is going to get ugly. I can tell already. _A sting of pain hit my side and I winced and turned around to face the city in ruins before me, and nocked an arrow with a sigh. _Oh, yes. Heaps of fun._

[...]

Yelping, I fell into the mostly-standing chapel and shut the door behind me, the reptile creature jolting the door as it crashed into it, assumedly headfirst. Glancing around, I spotted a kind-looking Redguard woman in armor and tapped her on the shoulder, meaning to ask her where Martin was. When she turned around, though, I got yet another surprise.

"You!" She exclaimed, looking my up and down as if she could hardly believe I was here. "I can't believe you made it out of here alive. Why did you come back?"

"I . . ." _I've lost my memory except for my time in Valenwood. I recognize nobody though I am recognized, and I think I may be slowly losing my sanity. People are recruiting me, people are trying to kill me, and I truly feel like running and hiding. _"I am looking for a Brother Martin."

"Oh." She smiled slightly and pointed at a man in blue robes near the alter in the center of the room. "You already asked me about him, remember?" _No. _"Be careful out there."

I nodded and approached the man. He certainly _looked _like the Emperor; he had at least that much in his favor. He looked considerably more tired, however. Whilst Uriel Septim was simply glowing with philosophical acceptance with his death, Martin seemed quite the opposite. He just looked exhausted, all the way to his bones.

"Excuse me." I moved in front of the priest slightly.

"Who are you? Are—actually, I recognize you." He said. "Were you not here a few days ago?"

I opened my mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "I don't remember." He seemed about to speak, but I cut him off. "Listen, Brother Martin. I do not seek your clerical services, but I do have something to tell you." Then I told him everything. About the Emperor, he being the only heir to the throne, lighting the Dragonfires, and how he was to follow me to Weynon Priory to rendezvous with Jauffre.

"No." He said flatly, just as I finished speaking. "I'm sorry, but I won't leave here until I know everyone can get out of here safely. We stuck together through this, and will not leave them now. Though . . . somehow, I think you are telling the truth."

I found myself smiling slightly. He would make a fine Emperor. Nodding, I said quietly, "That is quite noble of you, Emperor. I will help find a way to free these people, but right now . . ." I glanced at the bedrolls lining the walls and remembered my trek here. "Right now I need to rest."

I fell onto one of the rolls and before my head hit the ground I was asleep.

[:::]

_It was blood now. Why blood? It just gets everywhere and stains the nice white floor. Not easy to clean out, not easy at all._

_It was Nulem now. Why Nulem? Because he loved me and my mind wishes to torture me? Because I killed him? No, no, no . . . yes._

[:::]

I jerked up from my thin bedroll, swearing rather profanely and rubbing my foot. Someone had trampled my unfortunate toes in their rush to get to the main door of the chapel leading to the city. In fact, most of the refugees were gathered near there now, some more eager than others. Martin hung back slightly, while the Redguard woman and the attacker of my foot pushed forward more. There were not many people in the chapel, but they could conjure up quite the crown when they wanted to. As I made my way closer, I couldn't make who or what was so intriguing, so I stood next to Martin a few feet away.

"What's happening?" I muttered. "They all seem very excited."

Martin ran a hand through his hair. "Someone has closed the Oblivion gate." He replied, turning to face me slightly. "With that menace gone, I will accompany you to Weynon Priory now."

"It seems so. We should be on our way, then, fairly soon." I pushed my way deeper into the crowd, wanting to at least get a good look at who had the power and bravery to do something like venture to the Realm of Oblivion.

The throng of onlookers parted, finally, and I stumbled into the center of the circle with the hero. I took one look at his face and froze on the spot. He looked up at me and stared. My heart, my hands, my entire being went completely cold. _Hm. I had always been taught that bringing the deceased back from the grave was impossible. It has been now been proven utterly untrue._

It was Nulem.


	6. Confrontations

**That was indeed quite awesome.**

**FIRSTLY, yes, Nulem is the Hero of Kvatch, but I'm not yet sure about the Vala/main quest deal. SECOND OFF, yes, I'm not going by the main storyline for either Martin or Lucien. It's how I roll. You got a problem with it you may take your business elsewhere, good sir. And LASTLY, thank you Arty for reviewing again. Thank God, you aren't the only one anymore! –eats congratulatory cupcake- Now, on with the show.**

**Also, I hope you're listening to these songs. THEY ROCK MY WORLD. **

A woman may very well form a friendship with a man, but for this to endure, it must be assisted by a little physical antipathy. ~Friedrich Nietzsche

**Song: Heavy in Your Arms, Florence + The Machine**

I stumbled back a step as Nulem stepped forward. The onlookers had fallen silent, though whether from surprise or confusion I could not tell. Several different expressions were displayed on Nulem's face, from anger to disbelief to affection and back to anger. My friend, my comrade, my brother in arms, my partner in crime, and now the savior of a city. _What does that make me? A deserter, an enemy, a killer, a thief, and a poor passerby who happened to get caught in jail and meet the late Emperor. Lucky me._

"Vala . . ." Nulem said softly, hand outstretched slightly. He blinked, as though realizing what he was doing. He put his hand on the sword at his belt as his eyes hardened. "You tried to kill me."

"No . . . no, it wasn't supposed to happen that way. You . . . you chased me . . . and I panicked . . ." I dug my fingers into the palms of my hands, shaking my head. " . . . Martin, it's time to leave."

The priest stepped forward carefully, as though he were afraid the floor was hiding pressure pads. "I . . . I don't know if this is quite the time for me to—"

"We are leaving. Now." I grabbed his sleeve and dragged him towards the door.

Nulem glanced between us, looking terribly confused. "Where are you going?" He asked loudly, and for a moment, just a split second, I was reminded of the tiny blond-haired child that ran from a black beetle and talked of adventuring, and in that moment I was ready to collapse and weep until I could no longer move.

Then the moment ended, and the man who ventured into Oblivion came forward and replaced the grinning, star-struck boy. I ran a hand through my short hair, my fingers catching on knots and clumps of grime, and turned around to face my friend. _Why do I want to avoid him? Guilt, or cowardice? _

"None of your concern." I said curtly and turned back around and was about to open the door when I was interrupted once again.

"Could I . . . tag along, perhaps?"

I rolled my eyes and looked at Nulem, really looked at him. He was armored, which was a change from our last encounter. His brown hair had been messily hacked back above his ears. Bits of black soot were smeared across his tan cheeks, accompanied by several cuts and places where the skin had been simply scratched at. His cheekbones seemed higher, and he seemed much leaner, most likely from extensive exercise, or even from simply going into Oblivion. Blackish dust covered him from head to foot, from his heels and up to his eyelids, even. All in all, he looked like the human embodiment of a whip.

"This is none of your concern, and I intend to keep it that way." I replied coldly. _Yes. Definitely cowardice. _"Why does the Hero of Kvatch need to 'tag along' with someone, anyway?"

Hurt flashed in my friend's eyes, followed by shame. "I . . . I'm not very wealthy. I went in that gate believing I could die helping defend a town, but I didn't die and now . . ." He shrugged. "I'm not sure what to do."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, knowing that this was going to be a mistake. Did I have any other choice? "Fine." I grumbled. "But you stay at the Priory with Jauffre until you can figure things out."

[…]

How in the name of . . . how has he not figured things out yet? I resisted the temptation to rip my hair out in front of the full assembly of Blades.

Nulem had followed us to Cloud Ruler Temple, and the funniest part is that I let him. Perhaps it was guilt, but it was mostly friendship. I couldn't just push him out into the world, though for the life of me I could not determine why. I pushed myself out into the world, and look where I—yes, well, that answers that question. There had been no sneaking involved on his part, which was fortunate, but it was countered with the bloodiest curse of all—he and Martin did not get along at all. At one point I had to intervene to avoid a full brawl. Nulem's energy seemed to roil even Martin's even head, and it was all I could do to stand between the two as we traveled and pray that neither of them made a move for the other and force me to injure someone.

Along the way, I did find out why Nulem was even in Cyrodiil, and the answer was very simple: he had followed me. After our confrontation in the city, my call for aid did not go unheeded, and a neighbor saw him on the ground and helped him recover. Getting well enough for a long journey took longer than Nulem had thought, so by the time he had finally left for the north to find me, I was well into the province already.

Now my friend and I stood on the freezing steps of the Temple, watching Martin give his rather uncomfortable speech to the assembled Blades. After, they dispersed with a cheer, and I started to walk toward the gate leading to the Jerall Mountains. There was no point in my staying, and my so-called "deadline" was rapidly nearing, leaving me precious little time to get to my target. Before I could even get close to the gate, however, I was stopped by Jauffre, Martin and Nulem simultaneously. They began to speak, glanced around at each other, started once more, and stopped again. Smiling, I turned to Martin first. He opened his mouth, closed it and turned slightly pink before awkwardly walking back towards the Temple.

"You have been very helpful to us, Vala." Jauffre said approvingly, turning to face me.

"We lost the Amulet. Stolen by those . . ." _Damn my memory! _"Those Mythic Dawn assassins. " I stated bluntly. "I do not believe that qualifies as helpful."

Jauffre nodded. "That was unfortunate, but not your fault. We will get the Amulet back soon. However, due to your diligence and aid in finding Martin, I would be honored if you would join our ranks here amongst the Blades."

In all honesty, that had not been expected. My mind flickered uneasily back to my contract and the Lachance man. _They probably do not want a killer as one of them. But perhaps . . ._

I shook my head with a slight smile. "I could not possibly. It has been my honor to help, and rest assured I will visit as often as I may, but I have other business to which I must attend, and therefore cannot take you up on your offer." My arm shot out, and I grabbed Nulem's sleeve and dragged him next to me. "Though, my friend can."

"I can?" Nulem glanced at me, then a confused Jauffre, then back to me. "I can!"

"Nulem is a trustworthy, honest person who will fight until the death." I said appraisingly. I saw my friend looking at my out of the corner of my eye, but I ignored him. "You can count on him, I assure you."

Jauffre laughed slightly. "I'll take your word. It seems we now have a new Blade. Go find some armor, boy, you can't fight assassins in that." The Grandmaster walked off, shaking his head.

Nulem seemed about to bolt to the armory, but he turned to me first. "Vala, I can't thank—"

I waved a hand. "No need to thank me; this is not where I belong. You can start new here, and will be accepted. This is your life now, my friend."

"Thank y—I know. Will you visit?" He asked. In response, I reached to my belt and pulled out my roughly made, rusty knife and held it out to him. Nulem accepted it with a slightly confused grin.

"That is mine, you know." I said quietly with a smile. "I will need to come back for it."

Nulem grinned and, before I could stop him, picked me up in a great bear hug so that my feet could not even touch the ground. I laughed, coughed, and winced at the same time, my side burning. When my friend set me down, I stumbled slightly and nodded at him with a half-smile, gesturing to the armory. He looked behind him, then back to me. Nulem held up the knife I had given him, tucked it away at his belt, and then walked back to the Temple.

[:::]

_A single drop of blood fell. It whirled through the air, shining and scarlet, before colliding with a smooth, white surface and creating a perfect red circle. It remained as such for a moment before blossoming, shooting both up and down. Down, pointed claws dug through the white surface, locking in and creating a solid base. Above, the red folded and circled about, creating both soft surfaces and needle-sharp points. Finally, the beautiful red rose completely emerged from the white ground. Frost crawled across its velvet petals as snow began to fall from nowhere._

[:::]

For the first time in a long time, I woke peacefully. The sharp green needles of a pine spread out over me, keeping me mostly dry from the downpour a few feet away. The branches of this tree were most interesting—unlike others I had seen of these trees, they had actually begun their growth a few feet above the dirt, leaving a space a foot or so high that was perfect for a shelter against the rain. The air was cool with the drizzle, my bed of pine needles damp and quite sharp. The sky was a ceiling of gray clouds, slowly getting brighter, though the rain did not stop; Dawn must be close. Yawning, I grabbed my pack and crawled out from under the pine, glancing at a crack of white lightning across the charcoal horizon.

I slid down the muddy hill that my tree bed had been positioned atop, mud and torn grass piling between my bare toes. I stumbled into the bottom of something similar to a ravine, foggy water splashing around me and soaking me to the bone. Sighing, I trudged on through the damp forest, the sun climbing through the air and thunder rolls quieting as I made my way southwest. A shy family of deer darted through a wall of bushes, white tails flashing. Soft light shone through the thinning clouds as the day waned and I drew steadily nearer to the Gold Road. _Oreevan cannot be far._

My steps slowed as a wave of lightheadedness hit me. I fell onto a mossy, knee-high rock and pressed my palms to my face as what I was about to do struck me. An assassin had woken me up with the claim that I was a murderer and I took a contract to find and kill a possibly innocent civilian. _I am here to start again. This is not where I wanted to be. _My thumb grazed the tiny, stinging red line on my jaw. _But this is where I have ended up._ Do I have a choice? Must I carry out this contract, or will I myself be killed for not doing so and for knowing too much? On one hand, this would give me a foothold for my new life. But what kind of new life would this be? Would I be any better than the Mythic Dawn, the very people who killed the Emperor? _No. _But I knew nothing about this organization, perhaps it was all simply a—

A twig snapped nearby, not a few feet away. I surfaced sharply from my thoughts, grabbing my bow off my back. Several seconds passed before I heard another rustle and branch snapping, this time behind me. Whipping around, I nocked an arrow and peered through the green forest until I found the source of the sound; a red-scaled Argonian man in dirty pants and no shirt, making his way west and away from me. I lowered my bow but kept the arrow nocked—this had to be Oreevan. Pushing away the negative thoughts for the act I was about to commit, I fell into a crouch and followed him. I needed to make sure that it was, in fact, Oreevan, because if it was not and I killed an innocent person I might not be able to forgive myself. My suspicions were confirmed when, after several minutes of trailing the man, I spotted a poorly built, rotting shack that Oreevan entered. With him safely inside and out of earshot, I silently dashed to the hut and leaned against the shaky, splintery wood wall next to a window and turned my head to peer inside.

Oreevan was inside, setting down a loose cloth sack and unloading several bruised apples and a limp rabbit. The inside of the house was mostly empty; a lone bookcase stood in a corner, a single battered book occupying its shelves. The only other items in the room was a chair next to a table, a candle atop said table, a thin rug, a low, threadbare bed and a small locked chest. _It seems Oreevan spends a considerable amount of time outdoors. _

The Argonian folded the brown sack into a small rectangle and shoved it into the pocket of his pants, pulling out two small pieces of flint. He moved out of my vision and in the direction of the door, and, as expected, I heard the door creak open and muffled footsteps against the grassy forest floor. I leveled my bow and stepped out from around the house, purposely scuffing my boot against the ground. Oreevan stood and turned from where he had been crouched to start a fire, eyes narrowed and fists up. He focused on the iron tip of the arrow and dropped his hands with a hoarse sigh.

"I won't bother asking who sent you." Oreevan said resignedly. "I've made too many enemies to care."

I looked the man up and down. He was definitely older, though surprisingly fit; good physical health seemed a helpful attribute if one were living alone in the forest. He seemed unarmed, but I could not tell from this distance. I lowered my bow slightly.

"Why does the Dark Brotherhood wish you dead?" I asked. If I was to kill this man, I wanted to know why.

Oreevan burst into laughter. "So, it's the Brotherhood? I couldn't say I didn't see that coming. Let me think . . ." He scratched his lizard-like chin thoughtfully. "I can't seem to remember. I _think _it had something to do with a fight, or a theft, or something like that. I was with the Dark Brotherhood in my youth. No, I remember now. It was a fight for the ages, as I recall. Got me in a fair bit of trouble, so I fled the Brotherhood and their ilk and came out here."

His yellow eyes peered into me, assessing me the same way I had him. "So, who was it that sent you?"

I frowned. "The Dark Brotherhood. I believe I just told you as much."

Oreevan chuckled. "No, _who _sent you? I'm sure they've changed up the Speakers since I was there, and I knew most everyone. Maybe you can send a message for me."

_Hm. _"A man named Lucien Lachance." I replied warily.

The Argonian snickered. "That kid? Ha, he was just a child the last I saw him!" He seized up with a fit of coughing, body folding over with the force of the hacking. He spat a glob of phlegm into the dewy grass and grinned, forked tongue flicking out over his sharp teeth. "You seem like a smart one. Let me tell you something: I'm at the end of my rope. Kill me if you want, but tread with care in the Dark Brotherhood. They're not as cuddly as they seem."

With a slight nod I aimed my bow directly at Oreevan's chest, and was about to release the thin shaft when Oreevan began to laugh again—he seemed to do quite a lot of that.

"About my message," He coughed harshly, grinned toothily, and winked a bright reptilian eye. "Tell Lucien to keep his wits about him when dealing with pretty Bosmer assassins."

I smiled slightly. "I am sorry about this." I apologized quietly and let my arrow fly. The thin wood struck true and the recluse crumpled, dead before he hit the ground. I kneeled over the body and pulled the arrow from his chest, letting my hand drift across his eyes, sliding the lids closed. Picking up his limp arms, I folded them across his chest, letting his clawed fingers rest on his collarbone.

The door to the shack creaked loudly as I pushed it open with my fingertips. The single room smelled faintly of mold and strongly of mead. A thick coat of grime covered the floor, though the table was generally clean. The apples and rabbit still lay on the table, abandoned when Oreevan left to start the fire. I picked the apples from the table and put them in my pack; the rabbit, the neck of which had been snapped, I carried outside and set by the small black ring where a fire had been. I piled a few handfuls of sticks in the circle of stones and grabbed the pieces of flint from the ground near where Oreevan still lay and struck them together, a flame starting up immediately.

I skinned the rabbit, sliced strips of meat off, and skewered them on a spit to smoke and dry. After the fire properly started up I tossed a handful of green leaves on the fire to create more smoke. A smoky sweet smell drifted off the cooking meat, and I realized that I had not eaten for several days. When the flesh looked heated through, I ripped the strips off the stick and tore in with an almost ravenous hunger, and soon the bits were gone and I found myself wanting for more.

The fire sputtered and cracked as I stood to find more animals; as I moved to venture into the woods, however, my gaze fell to the dead body of Oreevan, and a wave of nausea swelled up in my throat. Turning, I dropped to my knees and retched into the bushes, the rabbit coming right back up again. I wiped the back of my hand against my mouth and stood shakily, my appetite gone. A cool mist of rain began to fall, light grey clouds covering over the sun. Several stumbling steps later I was back in the shed and out of the light rain. Sleep dragged on my eyes and, suddenly too exhausted to even stand, I collapsed onto the little bed and fell into a dark abyss.

[:::]

_It was a tiny square room, made entirely of steel and barely large enough to stand in. A hole in the ceiling let loose a drop of cold water every few seconds, creating a small puddle in the center of the room. I sat, legs crossed, on one side of the puddle and watched the water methodically drip into the pool. My body felt rejuvenated and healthy—no hint of sleep touched me, or touch of hunger famished me. My eyes were wide open, my skin almost glowing with wellness. Grinning widely, I looked about; there were no others in the room but me, yet somehow I did not feel alone. Rather, it was as though I were embraced and loved by some unseen force. _This must be what it is like to be a god._ I thought absently. Loved but generally unseen. The water above began to flow in a stream, and the puddle in front of me moved to cover the entire floor. I giggled and splashed my hands in the water, my palms cooled from the liquid. I tilted my head forward and up, letting the cold, refreshing water fill my cheeks. _

_I spluttered and coughed, spitting the water out of my mouth in a spray of blood; the rising water below turned pink. Panicked, I felt around inside my mouth—all my teeth were still there, and the water flowing from the ceiling was still clear and pure. I jumped to my feet, my panic increasing when I realized the water had come up to my knees already. My head touched the ceiling, the room too small for me to stand to my full height. The water from above was shooting down now, a foamy white stream. The water suddenly seemed colder—I was standing in a rising pool of ice. _

_My gasping breathing came out of my lips in plumes of white fog. The icy water kept rising, up to my waist, then my shoulders, and then it hit the ceiling and I was engulfed. I opened my burning eyes to see a black-gloved hand extended out towards me in welcome. When I opened my mouth to scream, freezing water flowed into my lungs and I saw no more._

[:::]

My eyes flew open and I jolted awake with a scream. Distantly I heard the scrape of a blade being drawn in a rush, but the fresh terror of my nightmare deafened me. A shining coat of cold sweat covered my pale skin, and my breath came out as a shudder at best. Gasping, I ran a hand through my hair, blinking rapidly. My heart jumped in my ribcage as adrenaline ran through my veins; this had, without a doubt, been the worst nightmare I could remember. Yawning, I climbed out of the dusty, creaking bed, walked to the door of Oreevan's shack and leaned heavily against the frame.

The rain outside had grown to a heavy downpour, the large drops pattering dully against the wooden roof of the shack and the lush grass a few steps away. I closed my eyes and listened to the symphony, the endless weeping of the heavens crying to the earth. A cool breeze blew into the stuffy shack, ruffling my loose shirt and stirring clumps of dust in the house that flew into the rain and disappeared. I sighed leisurely, scratched the back of my neck and turned around to face Lachance.

"So." I started, a smirk crawling its way across my face. "Are you going to tell me about this Brotherhood or are you going to stare at me all night?"

"I was not staring at you." The assassin grumbled from the far side of the room, putting his short steel back in its scabbard.

"Ah, yes, that explains your being here as I slept and your prolonged silence as I woke." I stifled a laugh as I approached the partially-shadowed Imperial.

Lachance almost seemed to splutter, although there was no sound was in the shack besides the pounding of the rain and my quiet footsteps. It was still very dark—a ray of moonlight shone through the open door, the only source of light. My tongue darted out to wet my lips as I approached the stone-faced assassin. The image of Oreevan's bleeding body flashed through my mind, as well as a few choice memories of Falinesti and my mother. _And gods be damned if she did not teach me something about men and the stars._

The assassin cleared his throat pointedly. "So, the deed is done." His deep voice sounded loud in the cool quiet of the woodland house. "How do I know this? You will di—"

"Why, there is a dead body not ten paces from the door." I said dryly. "Even a simpleton could see that I killed that man." I winced internally. This was not helping my act. In an attempt to recover from my sarcastic blunder, I swayed closer to a cornered, irritated Lachance.

He continued with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "The killing of Oreevan was the signing of a contract. Oreevan's blood, the ink. The manner of execution, your signature. As a Speaker of the Black Hand, I directly oversee a particular group of family members. You will join that group and fulfill any contracts given. You must now go to the city of Cheydinhal, to the abandoned house near the eastern wall. Enter the basement and attempt to open the black door. You will be asked a question. Answer thusly: Sanguine, my Brother. You will gain entrance to the Sanctuary. Once inside—"

"So, _Lucien_, was it?" I rolled the name of my tongue in the sultriest voice I could manage. "Say that I had changed my mind about this Dark Brotherhood, hired assassin plan. What would be my fate?"

Lachance raised an eyebrow slightly. "The answer should be obvious."

"Ah." I nodded slightly and took another step close to him. We were now close enough to touch. "Well, that _is _disappointing." I gazed up at him through my lashes.

The Imperial gave a small laugh. "Do not think I cannot see what you are trying to do. I am part of the Black Hand; do not make the mistake of taking me for a fool."

"Oh, now _that _is even more disappointing." I said, my voice losing any tone of seduction. With an internal grimace, I stood on the tips of my toes and placed a feather-light kiss on the assassin's lips. A sudden, violent wave of fatigue hit me, but I laughed and ran out into the rain without a glance back—I knew it had worked.

My knees felt weak and I was tired again, but Lachance was incapacitated for a few precious seconds and that was all I needed. With a glance at the body of Oreevan, I ran into the forest as fast as I possibly could in my state. My feet did not lift very high off the ground, but I gradually began to regain my strength, which was both fortunate and unfortunate. Fortunate because I could now run faster, but unfortunate because that meant the charm had worn off and Lachance was likely on my trail by now. No sooner had this thought crossed my mind then gloved hands fell on me from nowhere; one gripped tightly around my arm and another clamped across my mouth. _Well. It seems I should have thought that plan through a fraction more. _

"Now," The Speaker growled in my ear. "Unless you have a death wish, I would strongly suggest you cooperate and simply go to Cheydinhal. Am I clear?"

I mumbled something under his hand. When I was able to speak, I drawled, "_Crystal_." The hands on me disappeared. When I turned around, I was alone, but somehow I knew he was listening.

"Oh, I forgot to mention one thing, Lachance." I called out to the woods. "Before our friend Oreevan died he told me to give you a message, to 'keep your wits about you when dealing with pretty Bosmer assassins.'" My voice lowered; quiet enough that I could barely hear myself. "Well, he was correct on at least two accounts, was he not?"

I tilted my face up to the heavens, letting the rain rinse my face and hair. Sighing, I took an apple out of my pack and bit into the soft fruit, my steps silent through the din of rain as I began to head east.


	7. Resolve

**I changed my pen name, in case anyone was suspecting me of copying or something. I'm terribly sorry for the delay; just got Minecraft installed and I got a bit carried away but I'm BACK and just as crummy a writer as before so sit back and enjoy.**

**W'P**

Gaily I lived as ease and nature taught,  
>And spent my little life without a thought,<br>And am amazed that Death, that tyrant grim,  
>Should think of me, who never thought of him.<br>~René Francois Regnier

**Song: La Dispute, Yann Tiersen**

My feet hit the solid main road framed by lush trees in the city of Cheydinhal. The chill stone against my bare feet was an only slightly unwelcome change from the soft grass of the surrounding forests. Though I did enjoy the elements of the earth against my feet it did seem wise to buy a pair of shoes. It would not do in a fight to have my opponent stepping all over me in the most literal sense possible. I moved that objective near the top of my list of priorities, but it certainly was not first in line; that would be successfully locating the Dark Brotherhood without being killed as I slept, though that did seem a bit obvious. My next concern would be acquiring another blade; it had seemed a rather nice gesture to donate mine to Nulem, but in hindsight it was blind and foolish. If I were to get within a few feet of any given enemy I would be in serious trouble. So I wandered about town, admiring the exotic architecture; white buildings accentuated with dark brown crossed about the front, sides and back. A bright blue stream ran through the city, flowing in and out through sewer-like grates on opposite walls. Reeds swayed near the water, and grass grew untamed and soft. It was midsummer and the air was a sweltering, breezeless fog, so the only very slight coolness coming from the water was much welcome. As I neared the beck, a glowing, humming plant caught my eye. It was a squat little thing, with four bright leaves that folded out from the roots in a fashion similar to that of a frond on a fern. This was something wildly new to me, more so than my other surroundings. Thinking of my meager mortar and pestle, I promptly ripped the thing from the ground. The roots were not as pretty as the ringing leaves; they were thick, twisted things colored an unattractive beige hue. Though for all of its half-ugliness, it seemed to hold a surprising amount of alchemical potency, even from just a glance. The corner of my mouth twisting up in something of a smile, and I neatly clipped the leaves from their roots with the nail of my thumb and stored both the root and the leaves in my pack. Deciding that it was about time I actually looked for this abandoned house, I diverted back to the road and continued walking about the small city.

No sooner had my feet come off the grass than something grey and black streaked between my legs and I found myself tumbling to the ground, woefully unprepared for the assault. My head struck the pavement with a sharp crack, and spots of light flashed behind my eyelids. I bit a knuckle of my left hand and clutched my skull with my right, muttering a curse behind my fist. I stood, brushing myself off with my free hand while keeping my other against the stinging spot on my scalp. The fingers of my right hand were stained with a surprising amount of blood for what I assumed to be a relatively small wound.

My eyes scanned my surroundings, looking for the sorry throat I was certainly in the mood to throttle. I focused on a trotting blackish shape and made it out to be a dog, one of two that were following a tall blond woman down the street. The woman paid no attention to me, but simply walked on as through nothing had occurred. I clenched my fist, a sudden surge of rage welling up in me, but I pushed it back down with a deep breath. _Save it for someone who truly does deserve it. _I did not have any extra bandages or potions, unfortunately, so all I was able to do at this point was keep my hand on the injury and wait for the bleeding to stop. Perhaps a local inn would have a potion I could buy.

A cool breeze rustled past me, the sort of breeze that one leaves behind when walking. I looked about, but I was alone on the path but for the retreating back of the woman with the dogs, and she was much too far away to cause such a rustle. The top leaves of the trees were wilting slightly in the boiling heat but were also completely still, there being no wind to dry the sweat on the brow. _No wind means a cool breeze—at least, not naturally. So, who has the invisibility spell? _Did I truly care? _No. _And obviously whoever wished to use a spell such as that clearly did not want to be seen. So I did not look, and instead focused my attention back to finding that abandoned house.

When I concentrated, it was really not that difficult to spot and I wondered how I could have missed it. The windows and doors had been boarded over with thick planks, and the short stone wall in front of the building was crumbling, leaving bits of gray rock in the short grass at the doorstep. The short metal gate in the wall was knocked completely off its hinges, and the whole house had a general look of neglect. I stepped over the mangled iron gate and took out a tiny, delicate piece of metal I grabbed when in the Imperial Prison: a lockpick. I could not remember much, but by some miracle of nature I knew exactly how to twist the pick in the lock on the door. When the door clicked open, I reached through the boards with my fingers and pushed the door open as far as I could. I glanced over my shoulder to be sure I was not being observed too closely by any of the Cheydinhal guard, turned back to the door and, using the heel of my foot, kicked in a few of the semi-decayed boards; not all, just enough that I could easily get in and out.

After maneuvering my way in the house, I looked about and took in the old place. Spider webs clung to the corners, the owners of which hung from barely visible strands from their homes. Slices of pale light shone through the boards on the grimy windows. Brooms and shovels rested in half torn-apart barrels; dirty paintbrushes, spilled wells of ink, crumpled pieces of paper, mashed quills and the like were scattered about the place. Whirls of dust stirred about my feet as I walked deeper into the house, to the base of a staircase. I picked up a thick book with a faded green cover from the first step; it was heavy, but pages had clearly been torn out and mud was smeared across most of the final half of the poor tome. I gently set it back down, not bothering to read the dirt-encrusted spine. The staircase led up to the shadowed second floor, and a few feet from the entrance was a short door that most likely led to the basement of the house.

My suspicions were confirmed when I emerged in the dank room after a couple softly lit staircases. The basement was not so much dank as it was pleasantly cool—being below ground was a welcome relief from the choking heat above. The basement looked quite normal at first glance, but the far wall had a large hole bashed through it, which was just a bit odd. A narrow hallway sprouted from the hole, leading forward a few steps, then turning and plunging downward at a sharp enough angle that I could not see the end. I cautiously advanced over the crumbled stones through the wall and into the hall. The path was smooth almost to the point of softness, worn down by thousands of feet treading. I slipped down the blind curve, my unshod feet having no traction against the faded path. I ducked to avoid being struck by the low ceiling, and when I looked up a most interesting sight lay before me.

It was the black door Lachance had spoken of; there was no doubt about that. However it was so much more than simply a door. It looked as though a work of art had been given hinges. The end of the hall was lit with a bright red light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, though it was brightest at a skull that was imprinted at the top of the curved door. A large handprint had been pressed into the forehead of the skull, leaving a shining red imprint. On the door itself, below the skull, was depicted a woman clad in a black dress. Above her she held a child, though I did not know if the child was meant to be worshipped or sacrificed. Below the woman were several small figures that seemed to be hailing her. The entire thing was both disturbing and beautiful. Seeing no other option, I took a steadying breath and knocked softly on the stone door. _What in Tamriel am I thinking? This door could be inches thick. I would have to pound with all I have for any human to—_

My thoughts were interrupted by a hissing voice that sounded like a blade against stone. "What is the color of night?" It asked cryptically. I opened my mouth to answer when I realized that I did not know.

_Damn it all! Blasted memory, why now? This does not even make sense anymore!_ I rubbed my temples and sighed deeply, utterly frustrated. A headache was beginning to infect my mind, and the wound on my head began to throb. _What is it? _I sat down slowly and crossed my legs, the torn fabric of my pants rubbing against my calves. _What triggers this . . . this loss of memory? Being under stress? That seems like a reasonable answer, but none of this is reasonable at all! I spoke with Lachance not a week ago. Nothing memorable has occurred in my travels—at least, nothing to cause such a lapse in memory. _My thoughts turned to my recent wound. _I did not think that being struck on the back of the head could cause memory loss . . . _

I let my fingers tear through my hair, a bit of dust shaking loose as I went. There was a good sized clump of matted, bloody hair where I had struck my head on the pavement above, though there seemed to be more blood there than was normal for even a head wound. I massaged my scalp there, gingerly feeling the small, painful line where my skin had broken open. I was about to take my hand back when I came across another such line, but longer and slightly curved and very close to my newest one. _Hm? _It was definitely larger, and seemed to be somewhat healed over; just a bit sensitive to the touch. _This must be where the extra blood came from. But how did I get this? _

Sitting back against the roughly carved stone wall, I closed my eyes and let images wash behind my lids. First, the rain. Yes, it was raining, almost hard enough to be considered a storm. Next the creaking floorboards of the shack. It was cool there, and the air was moist from the rain outside. And then I had slept, after I killed . . . I killed Oreevan. I killed a man. A good, honest man. Why? My eyes fell to my fingers, the same that had let that damned arrow fly. It almost seemed a mistake, as though I had meant to let him live and my fingers just . . . slipped. _What a fool I am. _

Then came Lachance. What a terrible stratagem that turned out to be. _What did he say? Focus on the words, Vala. The words are the key. What did he say? _It was something to do with the letter 'S'. Yes, yes. It was See . . . San . . . Sanguine! The Daedric Prince. Sanguine, my Brother. _That is it! _I stood and spoke the words to the door, though I was not quite sure who I was speaking to. A moment later the door opened with a scrape of stone against stone.

"Welcome home . . ."The coarse voice whispered. I stepped out of the narrow hall and emerged into a large, candlelit chamber. The red light faded and was replaced with the yellowish glow of the candles as I moved further into the room. Deep red banners hung from the sides of six short pillars that seemed to be aiding in holding the ceiling up, though I was not sure. A black handprint was stamped on each of the slightly tattered tapestries. A few people, all in black armor that seemed to be some type of leather, stood about talking, reading or drinking. I was able to get a quick glance at two heavy doors on the walls to the left and right of me, as well as a small table in the corner before I was confronted by a lean Argonian woman.

"Greetings! I am Ocheeva, mistress of this Sanctuary." She welcomed warmly. "Lucien has told me all about you. Allow me to welcome you to the Dark Brotherhood."

I nodded politely. "Thank you. Ah . . ." I trailed off, not entirely sure what to say. Another look around the Sanctuary showed me the startlingly blue eyes of a girl across the room, peering at me with a curiosity so obvious and intense I began to feel slightly uneasy. Ocheeva followed my gaze and chuckled.

"I'm sure you want to meet the rest of the Family." She said kindly, misinterpreting me. "But first, please accept this gift from the Brotherhood. A set of armor, dark as **the night, and as comfortable**." She handed me the folded leather. It was worn and soft, but still shiny and new-looking; I wondered how that had been achieved.

After I received my gift, Ocheeva turned to leave, and I was left standing in the cold stone entryway, alone but for the girl across the room and another Argonian in a chair in the corner. Thoroughly unwilling to start a conversation right then, I edged back towards the door. My resolve wavered, and before I could blink, my feet were sliding on smooth stone as I sprinted away from the strange underground Sanctuary.

[:::]

My feet dangled in cold, barely-moving water. The dark armor given as a gift was laid off to the side, as well as a small ebony knife. I sat on the edge of the stream running through Cheydinhal, beads of sweat clinging to my forehead. I was alone, for the most part. Not many were outdoors in this heat, and even fewer were down by the little river, which was a bit surprising. The water was a welcome relief, though it provided me with little comfort. My mind had wandered back to Oreevan. Why had I killed him? Obviously, the reason had been desertion, but that was beside the point. I felt that his life was an unneeded sacrifice. He had been old, and weak. He would have died before long anyway. I had gone against my basic set of moral rules and killed a basically innocent man. Why?

_Mercy and cowardice are the same. _A voice muttered at the back of my head_. _I pressed my thumb and forefinger to my temples. How I wished I could back out of this dirty, bloody business. It was too late now.

I glanced at the armor and knife from under my hand and briefly considered throwing both into the water. Sighing, I gingerly picked them up and slipped them inside my bag, listening to the rattle and clang of the blade as it fell. I really did value my bag—it was enchanted by a highly-skilled mage that had passed through Falinesti once. I had received it as a gift from my mother on my thirteenth year. It was small, and could encompass as much as a cupboard of swords, armor, potions and almost anything else. The only downside, which I and my mother quickly discovered after the mage left the city, was that the objects put into the bag retained their original weight.

Heaving the small pack over my shoulder, I decided to set aside the business of hired murder and focused on finding my way further north. However, before I left town I decided to buy a new map. My current one was starting to look a bit worse for the wear.

[…]

"It really is of the best quality, ma'am!"

I narrowed my eyes at the merchant, who swallowed nervously. The map was nice, but the price he was charging for it was staggeringly high. It wasn't the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. The paper was yellow and torn in some places, and it only showed Cyrodiil. No major cities were shown in any other province. There was either a catch, or he was the greediest man currently living.

"Why is it so expensive?" I asked suspiciously.

"Oh, that's the best part!" The man grinned widely, pointing a finger at the thing. "It's _enchanted, _you see!"

I sighed internally. The last time I trusted a merchant selling an enchanted item it was not as it seemed, but there was no harm in discovering what it was enchanted with. When I asked, the merchant grew even more excited, if that was possible.

"You see, fair lady, it can instantly teleport you anywhere in Cyrodiil!" He shifted eagerly from foot to foot, his eyes almost completely turned into gold coins.

I raised an eyebrow. "Very well, I take back my previous question. Why is it so cheap?"

"Well . . ." The elf coughed slightly. "You see, the magic only works when you're outside. So you can't teleport when inside a building. The enchanter was a good man, who never ran from a fight. So, consequently, you cannot use it when there are enemies near you, or if you are being pursued by the law." He shrugged a bit guiltily. "Besides that, I can't sell the thing because it's so pricey. You wouldn't believe how long I've had this map."

He seemed like an honest enough man, but the fact of the matter was that there was no way in Oblivion I would be able to _buy_ the map.

I reached over and rolled up the paper, casually slipping it into my bag and putting a small pouch of coins on the counter in its place.

The merchant spluttered as he glanced into the pouch. "But . . . this isn't nearly enough to cover the price of the map!"

My hand raised the ebony dagger and pointed it threateningly at the man, the latter giving a choked gasp and clamping his mouth shut.

"You will not call the guards, and you will not pursue me." I turned and walked out of the shop, pausing before I left. "I will find you if this map is fake." The door slammed behind me.

Once outside, I pulled out the map and looked closely at it. My gaze fell to the city of Bruma, a small settlement almost at the border of Skyrim. I focused in on a tiny picture of two towers, each topped with a flag, which read _Bruma North Gate. _Unsure of how the magic worked, I hesitantly touched a finger to the little icon.

Almost instantly I felt a strong tug around my middle, and fell forward. Cold wind howled around me, throwing me to and fro before my feet slammed with great force against the ground. Breathing in deeply, I looked up and was quite surprised to see that I was inside a city, next to a towering wooden gate and two stone-faced guards. Snow was dusted across the stone pathway leading down into a lower area populated by large, short, sturdily-built wooden houses. Having little interest in the town itself, I turned back towards the gate, hefting the thing open and slipping out of the city. I was, in fact, just as far north as the map indicated. Pines rose in towering swells shortly beyond the city limits, and the ground was covered in a frothy white sheet of snow.

Looking around myself, I expected to feel something. Anything.

It took me several moments to realize that I was physically pushing myself; _trying _to feel some moving sense of accomplishment. Then, of course, feeling began to take hold. Terror, blind and unyielding. What had I made of myself? Had one simple murder been the string that unraveled me?

I sucked in a sharp breath through my nose. My nails dug into the palms of my hands, harder, and harder, until at last I felt drops of blood leak past my fingertips to fall into the snow below. Clenching my teeth, I ripped my newly acquired map from my bag, leaving streaks of rusty crimson across the paper, and focused on the tiny icon that was the east gate of Cheydinhal.

Not a second later I was standing back in the temperate city, and after quickly getting my bearings, set purposefully in the direction of a ruined, crumbling house.


	8. Survive

**Chapter 8**

**If the end of the last chapter seemed a bit rushed, it's because it was. I was slightly frustrated with myself for taking too long to finish the stupid thing, so I cooked up the ending but I'm sorta kinda getting the plot underway here. Bear with me. And okay, so I steal a bit of dialogue, but Vicente ISN'T MINE BY ANY STRETCH OF HE IMAGINATION PLEASE LET ME REITERATE THAT ALL OF THAT GOOD STUFF BELONGS TO BETHESDA.**

**By the way. ****Things might get kind of gory in this chapter, so let me know if I should up the rating.**

**By the way. ****I got a new poll up on my page, so…yeah. Whenever. **

**W'P**

It's unnatural for people to run around the city streets unless they are thieves or victims. It makes people nervous to see someone running. I know that when I see someone running on my street, my instincts tell me to let the dog go after him. ~Mike Royko

**Song: A Million Miles An Hour, ECC**

I shoved open the boarded door of the "abandoned" house and stalked into the basement and through the narrow stone hallway. After pushing open the heavy stone door into the Sanctuary, my eyes instantly fell on Ocheeva, sitting and reading in a corner by candlelight. She glanced up as I approached, looking slightly surprised.

"Ah, our newest recruit has returned." She greeted. "I believed you had run out on—"

"I would like a contract. Are you not the one to issue them?" I interrupted.

She blinked. "No. You will want to speak to Vicente about that." She gestured to a door at the far end of the short chamber.

Wasting no time, I quickly found the room at the end of a linear hall that led a bit deeper into the earth. Pushing open a final set of thick wooden doors, my gaze fell on a gaunt Breton, who looked up casually, as though expecting my arrival. As I took in his appearance, my hand unconsciously fell down to my bag, where I knew I still held that dagger. His pale pink eyes and extended, sharpened canines were all the warning I needed, though I was not so stupid as to pull a blade—yet. He, also, had been reading, and stood, setting his book down as he approached me. I took a wary step back, but then stayed my ground. This was no time for cowardice.

"Ah, you must be our newest Sister!" He exclaimed, his tight, somewhat insincere grin further revealing his fangs. "Welcome to our Family. My name is Vicente Valtieri, and I provide assignments for new recruits." He seemed to notice my stance. "Please, do not let my appearance . . . unnerve you. The needs and Tenets of the Brotherhood come before my own needs as a vampire."

I relaxed, but only very, very slightly. "I would like a contract."

"I appreciate your enthusiasm. Prepare however you may, and come talk to me when you are ready to take on the assignment." He instructed, not unkindly. I nodded silently, not quite knowing how to respond, and instead decided to find a new weapon as I swiftly exited the underground room and Sanctuary. Although the dagger I had was ideal for threatening weak-willed merchants, it would take me little beyond the first blow in a fight. Padding quickly through the hallway and out of the ruined house, I wondered how I was going to afford a new sword.

[:::]

"Stop! Thief!"

Swearing lowly, I tightened my grip on the scraped handle of my newly acquired shortsword and quickened my pace into a sprint, eyes set purposefully at the arched gate to the forest outside. Although there were two more guards there, I was not going to return to the Sanctuary.

A glint of silver caught my gaze and I slid a step to the side, feeling a breeze of air as one of the guards at the gate swung his sword down in a blind arc. I made an attempt to parry his next blow, but the sword I had stolen was surprisingly heavy, and I barely managed to lift it in time. Sparks flew from the metal as the guard's sword grazed off of my own stolen one. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the four pursuing guards catch up with me at the gate, swords drawn. I flitted behind the second man guarding the gate, pulled the ebony dagger from my belt and slammed it into the side of his neck, down to the hilt. Hot blood gushed across my hand as he let out a quiet gurgle and dropped to the ground, scarlet seeping across his shining chainmail. Knowing the other guard was still behind me, I spun, whirling the sword with as much strength as I could muster. The edge sparked off the steel covering his shoulder. In an instant I had brought the blade against his torso, slicing a non-fatal gash deep enough that he would not get back up again.

My vision grew blurry. Distantly, I felt my feet tearing forward and a roar echoing from my lips as I charged to the remaining soldiers. I dropped down as a blade swung over my head and whipped my own up, the metal cutting into the side of the first man's jaw, just below the rim of his helmet. He let out a chocked yell and crumpled. The next two guards, who were not as woefully unprepared as their three companions, deflected both of my insane swings. Someone was screaming, but I was not sure whom. All I felt was my muscles straining to lift the stolen sword for another attack. All I heard was the repeated clanging of metal on metal and occasional yells, but I did not know if they were of pain or fury.

So much time passed. It could have been weeks of fighting. Or perhaps it was only seconds, and I was deluding myself. Whatever the case may be, when the dust cleared and my vision was right again, it was only me and one other man; the one with the gash in his side. My toes were submerged in small pools of crimson as I padded quickly to his curled, bleeding figure on the ground. He looked up as I approached, eyes begging for help. I tilted my head to the side, examining the pathetic man. The wound in his side was deeper than I had originally thought. It was bleeding quite a bit. Without casting him a second glance, I thrust the point of my sword into his neck. _Mercy and cowardice are the same._

Only as I stepped over the two bodies by the door out of Cheydinhal and escaped into the thick forest did the true extent of my exhaustion hit me. My breath was fire in my lungs. Sweat dripped down my brow, soaking into the short hair near my ears and running down the back of my neck to leave an itching trail on my spine. My grip was painfully tight on the handle of the sword, out of fear that I would drop my prize. The dry stick in my mouth which I had once called my tongue wallowed in a pool of sticky saliva and blood from a bitten tongue during the fight.

Trees flew past me as I tore deeper into the forest, stars slowly descending over me. I had not the slightest idea of where I was going. Anywhere. Everywhere. Nowhere. Somewhere. Eventually, I collapsed, my fatigue overcoming my motivation. Not bothering to look where I had fallen, I stabbed my new sword into the soft dirt and passed into the realm of sleep.

[:::]

_I could find nothing wrong. The scene seemed . . . idyllic. I sat on the bough of a birch tree, overlooking a snowy countryside. For some reason I had wings; fluffy, feathery things that rustled between my shoulder blades, but that did not concern me. They were just _there. _Now, the beautiful, peaceful mountains were something _really _interesting. So incredible. So . . . majestic. This place was so calm and quiet. I never wished to leave. If I were to spend the rest of my days here, I would die quite happily. _

_Suddenly, something felt terribly off about the situation. The sky was a cool, peaceful gray. But . . . perhaps it was not gray at all. It looked a bit too dark for my tastes. Something, I did not know what yet, was horribly wrong. Spreading my wings, I gently floated to the ground, landing delicately in the snow. Perhaps a view not so obscured by tree branches would allow me to see what was so unnerving._

_I yelped as my feet touched the ground. There was no snow; the ground was instead covered in rushing streams of red. Rivers of it, flowing from my toes and fingertips and spilling across the ground in shimmering cascades of scarlet. Wading through, I realized with mounting horror that my wings were gone. Vanished, without even a feather left behind. I clawed uselessly at nothing as the river of blood carried me off the mountainside. _

[:::]

My fingers clenched into moist dirt, digging up clumps of grass as I sat bolt upright, breathing raggedly. After a few minutes of shivering in cold sweat and darkness, I calmed and focused on the slowly lightening eastern horizon. I did not know how long I simply sat there, staring. My stolen sword was still upright in the gentle earth, the blade gleaming dully underneath smears of rusty brown, dried blood. The sun gradually crawled, blushing, over the mountains in the distance, and when I could see far enough ahead of me, I wobbled to my feet and limped into the forest, the tip of the iron sword dragging in the dirt behind me. Rummaging mindlessly through my small pack, my fingers found purchase on the last remaining strip of venison that I had brought with me from Valenwood.

As I slowly made my way downhill, I mildly contemplated how every inch of my body was in pain. Whatever feat of strength I had accomplished in the city had drained me completely, leaving only the dregs. Simply putting one foot ahead of the other was a miracle of itself; yet in this twisted game of living, it was mind over matter and it took nothing but a bit of willpower to wind my way around the city, circling around to approach the town from an alternate entrance.

I shoved a few low-hanging tree branches from my path and continued my march of pain, only to be stopped by a sudden and quite unexpected lungful of water.

My arms automatically began to thrash about before I realized where I was and clawed my way to the surface of the water, kicking to shore and heaving myself onto the ground. Water streamed from my mouth and nose. A bit of seaweed was hanging wetly in a large knot above my ear, and a healthy coating of green slime covered the bare soles of my feet. I coughed sharply, drops of water spattering across the petals of a red flower a few inches from my face. Weakly tugging the weeds from my hair, I looked over my shoulder to see a small yet deep pool into which I had fallen. A short ledge of stone and dirt covered some of the pond, and several feet from the ledge I saw the snapped branches on the tree I had shoved past before my rude awakening.

After taking a moment to contemplate my situation, I decided that finding this pond was a blessing in disguise. This gave me the perfect chance to clean the blood from my body. It would not do to walk through a city covered in the blood of the law enforcement. I peeled my drenched, filthy, blood-stained clothes from my equally filthy, blood-stained body and spread them on the grass beside the pool so they might dry a bit. The water was ice-cold and I could not see below my collarbone, but suitable. Submerging myself, I rubbed my hands through my hair to rid it of some of the grease and grime it had acquired. After several minutes of painfully hard scrubbing, the drops of blood washed away. After I was as clean as I could get, I floated near the edge of the still pool, toying absently with a pink-white water lotus. Eventually I went back to my shirt, pants and underclothes and turned them over so they would finish drying.

The cut across the back of my hand had scabbed over, leaving nothing but a line of dark, dried blood. Brushing a finger beneath my chin, I felt the bump of another scab given to me by that assassin, Lachance. My bare side revealed the deep gash that had been gifted to me by a clannfear. The bruised skin around it was purple and yellow, discolored from different stages of healing.

Sighing quietly, I went back to shore and wrenched my new sword from the ground, bringing it down into the water with me. My fingers groped at the bottom of the pool for a few minutes before I found a small, rough stone. Gripping it tightly, I methodically began to scrape the dried blood from the blade and into the water. Flakes of rusty red spun away into the murk before slowly sinking below the surface. Slipping back to the edge of the pond, I tossed the semi-clean sword carelessly on the grass and threw myself up after it, patting some excess water from my skin with my torn trousers before pulling on my slightly damp clothes. It was far past time to leave.

[…]

It was a simple ruse, really. I had exited the city of Cheydinhal through the easternmost gate, leaving something of a scene behind me. Now, I would simply re-enter the city through the northernmost gate, the closest to the Sanctuary. I gave the distant walls of Cheydinhal a wide berth, being cautious in case guards were posted to keep watch for me. It was long, arduous hiking around the city, but I reached the north gate by the time the sun was at its peak in the sky. I kept my head bent low and my sword concealed as best I could as I approached the north gate.

My body tensed, prepared for a fight, as I cautiously skirted between the two bored-looking guards on either side of the gate. Nothing happened, however, and I quickly darted through the gate with a quiet breath of relief. I stayed close to the wall, behind the houses as I maneuvered my way to the Sanctuary.

Something brushed past my shoulder, just soft enough to be felt. My fingers tightened around the hilt of my sword on instinct and I whirled around, holding up the blade up defensively. A breeze rustled through the empty yards. Feeling slightly foolish, I frowned and let the iron fall back against my leg. The wind, playing tricks on me.

The grass was cool and slightly damp between my toes as I padded up behind the abandoned house. A small well caught my eye. It had a few stones missing from the edge and the opening was covered in a grate of rusty metal. As I approached, however, it seemed to be absent of water. Instead, the inside was dry and dark. In the shadows I could barely see the top of a slightly twisted, worn-down ladder. Frowning, I gripped the grate, specks of reddish-brown fluttering down the hole, and gave it a sharp pull. The thin bars squeaked in protest, but stayed very much attached. Looking closer, I saw that there was a tiny keyhole in the grate. There was no rust around it.

Hm. It was frequently used, then. My gaze drifted up to the abandoned house. This must be some sort of hidden exit to an already hidden underground den. Terribly secret, these assassins. Abandoning the strange well, I went around to the front of the building and entered normally.

[…]

Vicente glanced up mildly from his book, smiling comfortably as I edged my way over the threshold to his room. No matter how long I . . . worked with this man, I did not think I would ever grow used to being in the same room with him.

"Please, come in!" The vampire greeted kindly. "Are you ready for your assignment?"

"Yes." I replied simply.

Vicente nodded. "Very well. Your first target will be a woman named Sha-Keijet, living in the outskirts of Anvil. Her farm is within sight of the city's walls, though she stays mostly secluded. Be wary; even though she is alone, she has trained a small but ferocious pack of dogs to defend her. They may prove a challenge. You will receive a bonus if you can carry out the contract without slaying any of her hounds." He looked down at the small book on the table, stroking the spine affectionately. "Ask your fellow Family members for advice if you wish." His pink gaze flicked up again. "Spill some blood for me, dear Sister."

[…]

Not wanting to linger in the city for too long, I unrolled my map as soon as I stepped out of the abandoned house. I automatically chose to travel to Bruma again, only when I left the city and entered the wilderness, I chose instead to stay. The snow melted beneath the heat of my toes. I gingerly perched atop a large boulder approximately a mile from the road, out so far that I would never be seen unless I wished to be. A frosty gust of wind howled around me, chilling me down to the bones. I swallowed dry spit down my even drier throat. Flakes of snow flickered past me, dotted any exposed skin of mine with specks of water.

Something inside of me wanted to cry. A primal, selfish part of myself. That same part of me was decaying, like a piece of rotten flesh. It stank and rotted, flies buzzed about it, and the longer I stayed here in the cold the more flies buzzed and the more it stank.

I did nothing. I let the wind blow, the snow melt on my skin, the rotten flesh reek. I stayed, with my arms around my knees, and I did nothing.

[…]

Hours later I found myself in the corner of a Newlands Lodge, moodily throwing back bottles of ale. There was a fair number of Orcs and Dunmer in Cheydinhal, and this particular pub seemed to contain mostly the latter. The Dark Elf proprietor responded to my nod and wave by sliding down another dark bottle of alcohol. I took a long draught of the bitter liquid, coughing quietly as the stuff went down the wrong way. In Falinesti, there was a distinctive lack of alcohol, due to both the Green Pact and the lack of necessary ingredients and equipment. Therefore, the open possession and distribution of wine and beer was a welcome commodity, though I seemed to be very vulnerable to the strong effects of the substance on my system.

The bartender enjoyed talking. She rattled on for a few minutes about how proud she was of the inn before I concluded that I should actually listen to what she was saying, if for no other reason than common decency.

"This is a Dark Elf bar." She said pleasantly. "So curse and spit and scream all you want. Fighting's fine too. It's the guards that have a problem with it; they'll fine you and slap you in irons."

The rest of her speech faded back into meaningless blather. My vision was a bit blurred from drinking. My fingers fumbled for the bottle, but I was surprised when I found nothing but a drop left. Swearing under my breath, I riffled through my pack to pay for the drinks and a room, only to discover the few coins I had to already be on the counter. Blinking in confusion, I nodded to the hostess and marched, heavy-footed, up the stairs to the rooms of the inn. It took me several tries to find the lock that the room key fit, but I eventually managed to find my room though I tripped slightly getting in. I stumbled over my feet a bit getting to the small bed. My vision faded to black as I collapsed gracelessly onto the sheets.

[…]

I was being stabbed. There was no other explanation. There were two poisoned knives in my eye sockets, twisting around inside my skull. Two more were in my temples, grinding into my brain. Someone had poisoned me as well—my body was aching from head to toe. My limbs were weighed down by thousands of pounds. Groaning, I heaved myself to my side and squeezed my eyes shut, cursing myself a thousand times over. Cracking an eye open, I noticed that a half-full bottle of brown ale was perched precariously on the edge of the bedside table. Swearing loudly, I threw the bottle against the far wall, watching the shards of dark glass and liquid fly across the room. My fingers rubbed my temples, wishing away the throbbing pain there as I wrenched myself from the only slightly grimy bed.

A strong surge of nausea rose up in my throat. I put a hand to my stomach and swallowed down the sour taste in my mouth. An apple sat plaintively on a table in the corner of the room next to the door along with a loaf of bread, a clay pitcher filled with water and a matching clay cup. I picked up the apple, shied it on my shirt and took a small bite. I chewed the flavorless pulp for a few seconds before spitting it out and picking up the loaf of bread. Tearing a flaky piece from it, I opened a small chest to see if anything inside was worth selling for extra money. It was empty.

Another wave of pain hit me, my body aching. Nausea boiled up again, and this time I could do nothing but vomit, the contents of my stomach spilling into the open chest and spattering onto the wooden floor. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, groping around the tabletop for the clay pitcher. I snatched it and desperately threw back the contents, water dripping down my chin and soaking into the front of my shirt. Tossing away the empty decanter, I clawed my way back to the bed, still holding the bread, and collapsed. The room went dark, and then lit up in turns as I faded in and out of consciousness. Sweat beaded on my forehead; my limbs stayed heavy and my mouth sticky. My skin felt as though I had been lit on fire. Perhaps I had caught a fever of some sort. It certainly felt like it. Then my thoughts wandered back to the excessive amount of drinking I had been doing. That must have something to do with my current state.

Whatever the reason, I was not going to stay in an inn and complain. Throwing my legs over the edge of the bed, I heaved myself to my feet. By some miracle of nature itself I was able to pull my body away from the terribly comfortable bed and pick up my bag. The little leather sack had never felt heavier.

It was very early. When I arrived in the main area of the lodge, I was alone. A board on the floor above me creaked; someone was awake. Not wanting to linger, I made for the door, but my gaze was drawn by a rack of wine bottles. Glancing back at the staircase, I shuffled to the rack and slipped a two bottles of cheap wine into my bag, as well as several of bottles of beer that were resting on the counter. For an added luxury I tossed a small wedge of yellow cheese and a bunch of slightly wilted grapes in with the alcohol.

Several seconds later, my sweating, itching, tired body was out of the inn and walking the softly lit streets of Cheydinhal. The summer morning was early and foggy, a thin mist lying low and cool on the gray cobble stones of the roads. The sun was gently peering over the horizon, but offered me no comfort, because I was far too busy feeling like horse shit to appreciate the morn.

An eternity later, my leaden feet were crossed beneath me and my hands were submerged in water colder than ice. The loaf of bread and my sword lay next to me, momentarily abandoned. Blades of grass pricked my exposed ankles as I bent over the surreally blue stream, splashing more ice over my face. My throat was a dry tunnel leading to the empty cave that was my stomach. Ice dripped down my cheeks and returned to the blue stream. I scooped up another handful of cold ice and swallowed it. For a brief moment of bliss, I felt hydrated, but the water slid into my gut and my esophagus was once again a desert. Frustrated, I plunged my head into the stream and sucked in all the water I could. I felt somewhat satisfied after I surfaced, with more ice sliding down my feverish neck and back. My hands ripped apart the loaf of bread into rough, flaky slices. Extracting the cheese wedge, I began to shove small lumps of each into my mouth, my jaw moving stiffly as I forced the flavorless material down my desert throat. When I had consumed enough to keep me alive, I pushed the rest into my pack to eat later. Dragging my sword behind me as I stood, I snatched out my map and scanned it. I almost did not see Anvil, hidden by the shore.

Something brushed my shoulder as I was pulled into a howling torrent of wind.

**So...this may have seemed like a pointless filler chapter. Which it was a little bit. But it was mostly about Vala just getting a bit acquainted with weird stuff she didn't usually get in Valenwood because of the Green Pact. It also kind of touches on her killing some people, but that's a little less important.**

**By the way, if you don't know what the Green Pact is, here's a quick history lesson. The elves in Valenwood are strictly carnivorous by religion and in some cases cannibalistic (like if they kill something or someone they have to eat the fallen enemy), but they aren't really allowed to hurt any plant life, i.e., chopping down trees to build houses. Using wood as a building material is practically punishable by death, but they still use imported wood for houses when absolutely necessary. **


	9. Crack

**Chapter 9**

In violence we forget who we are. ~Mary McCarthy

**Song: Icky Thump, The White Stripes**

I stumbled slightly as I came out of the transportation enchantment, muttering out one of my choicest curses as I jammed my toe against a log. Shoving my crinkled map back in the depths of my bag, I scraped my nails at the bottom of the leather in search of the grapes I had taken. My entire arm and part of my collarbone was in the little bag before I was able to wrap my fingers around the purple ovals. Popping one in my mouth, I winced at the soft, unpleasant texture and taste, but continued eating. Anvil was silhouetted against the rising sun, golden beams shining daringly over the red-tiled rooftops. Time seemed to pass when I was in the no-man's-land when travelling using the enchanted map. When I had left Cheydinhal in the far east, the sun was well below the horizon. Now in the west, near the stables just outside Anvil, it was about thirty minutes after dawn. Fruit juice squirted out of my mouth as I bit down on another sickeningly sweet grape. Smacking my lips in distaste, I spat the pips out and shoved my iron blade into my bag, listening as it clattered to the bottom.

The vampire had not given me an exact location, so I was forced to wander around the outskirts of the city for some time, looking for a small farm and waiting to be attacking by dogs. Wildflowers were growing as tall as my waist, fluttering in the mild, salty breeze from the sea. Gold grass rose slightly lower, clinging to my skin and getting in my way. I swatted some of the stuff away as I plowed on, leaving a parted trail behind me. The ground was dry and pricked the soles of my feet as I walked.

I was a bit farther inland when I spotted the little house. It was a squat thing that sat low on the ground, sagging like a wet leaf. Some of the boards in the roof had fallen in, leaving splintered pieces of wood sticking out the top. I tread carefully, keeping my eyes open in case the hounds were lying in wait. I began to grope around in my bag, regretting having sheathed my weapon. Something rustled in the grass ahead of me. My fingers grasped the rough leather grip on my sword and I pulled the thing out, holding it before me in defense. My blood began to pound in my ears, adrenaline pulsing through my veins.

A long-eared hare bounced out of the grass at my feet. It quivered in fear at the sight of me, padded its foot against the ground, and dashed back into the swaying gold with only the flash of a white tail left behind.

The sudden urge to go after the little creature and hack it to pieces struck me. A fresh wave of bloodlust washed over me, and I stalked forward, throwing subtlety to the wind. I plucked the last of the grapes off the green vine before tossing it away, pushing more golden grass out of my way. A loud growl sounded next to me, and I swung my blade up to block the blur of gray fur but was far too slow. Fangs sank into my left calf with a vicious thirst, tearing at the muscle. I screamed in rage and pain and brought my sword straight down into the dog's neck. The hound's blood mingled with my own as the thing collapsed. I had almost no time to recover as another such beast tore out of the field, but this time I was ready. I swung my sword faster, and the side caught the dog by the jaw. It whimpered quietly, but recovered and snarled at me threateningly. One of its teeth was chipped and bleeding where my blade had struck it. Before it could move again, I thrust forward with the blade, but I was forced to lean on my left leg, which gave out instantly in a burst of white-hot pain. I fell to my knee, trying to stand as best I could, and held the sword up in time to stop the gnashing, hungry teeth of the dog. The flat of the blade smashed into my nose with the force of the animal's lunge. I felt the bones in my nose snap, blinding pain splitting through my face. Spittle and foam sprayed from the mouth of the dog as I shoved it away and sliced at its side. It whined loudly and stumbled, giving me the opportunity to cut it under its throat. Hot blood was leaking down my leg and spreading across my foot as I slowly forced myself to my feet, wincing.

Gritting my teeth together, I took a single shaking step forward. Pain lanced sharply up my calf and bolted up my thigh like lightning. More blood poured down my nose and seeped through my lips, the metallic taste spreading across my tongue. Growling, I wiped a fist across my face and marched on, my sword feeling heavier than before. How I longed for my bow and arrows! Perhaps again, someday.

I was within sight of the house's front door. As I approached, the thin wooden door banged open, and two more hounds burst out, followed by a confident-looking Khajiit woman in shabby leather armor. _She must be Sha-Keijet. _I had no time to think, however, as the dogs both attacked with claws and teeth. I found myself hacking clumsily at the animals at my feet, unable to fight them off any other way. The smaller of the two fell back a step, saliva and blood dripping from its mouth in exhaustion. Finding my opening, I thrust forward. The blade went down the beast's throat, cutting past its tongue. The latter let out a choked whine and collapsed. The other hound lunged at me, growling. I could scarcely see. My vision was red. My blade connected with something, which I assumed from the yelp was the final dog. I was moving again, running, my sword in the air beside my shoulder. There were footsteps besides my own. The sword, as though not attached to me, swung down in a sharp arc. A throaty scream of agony echoed across the quiet fields, which was quickly cut off.

My sight cleared, my rage subsiding. The pain in my calf returned, crawling up my leg and across my body like a disease. I dared not look down at what I had done; something like shame began to infect me. Somehow I had been twisted into a . . . murderer? Was that the right word?

_No. _A voice hissed. _Mercy and cowardice are the same, and you are an assassin, now. _Swallowing back my self-hate, I bent over the body of Sha-Keijet. I pulled the cloth pouch from her side and upturned it next to her. A decent amount of gold and a small flask tumbled out. The gold I tossed into my bag, but the flask caught my attention. It was small and had about a mouthful of bluish liquid inside. Frowning, I slipped the little bottle in with the gold. I put my arms on the side of the Khajiit's body and shoved, pushing the woman onto her front. My fingers immediately worked to unlace the leather armor from her. The cuirass came off fairly easy, and there was minimal damage caused by my macabre work. Next I undid the ties on the greaves and quickly pulled them off her legs.

I set aside the armor, pulled off my own torn cloth pants and began tearing them into thin strips that I used to wrap around my bitten leg. The green cloth quickly turned deep red. Another piece of cloth I held to my throbbing nose, wiping away some of the gushing blood. Leaving my shirt on, I quickly threw on the leather armor. It was tight and heavy, and my instincts made me want to throw it off, but I left it on for protection's sake only. There were loops and pockets all across the cuirass, so I tucked my bag into one of the pockets, which was convenient but severely put me off my balance.

The door to the house was still open. The floor creaked as I walked in, a single, lonesome squeak that echoed through the shack. There was only a single room. In the corner a bed sat, the beige sheets ruffled and unmade. A small table and chair sat in the middle of the room. A clay vase with a couple wilting yellow flowers let out no fragrance. A locked chest sat in another corner. My gaze was instantly drawn to it. Hissing sharply in pain, I gingerly knelt next to the thing and pulled at the lock, which refused to budge.

I rubbed my thumb and forefinger against my temples. I was taught . . . there was a . . . charm that opened locks. Spells were spoken in Daedric . . . but I could not quite remember the words. Sighing, I tried to relax and reach back into my memory. The words came to me slowly, little parts that built up into a patched whole. Hesitantly, I said the spell and pointed at the lock, fumbling over the foreign tongue. Nothing happened at first, and I believed that I had it wrong. Much to my surprise, the lock clicked and popped open, hanging loosely off the chest. Observing the lock itself, I concluded that I most likely could have picked the thing.

Inside were a few more bottles of blue liquid. Turning one over in my hand, I noticed that it was larger and a slightly deeper shade of blue than the others. One was a sickly green, and was not quite as fluid. Popping the tiny cork, I took a hesitant sniff and reeled back instantly. It reeked of poison. Pushing the cork back in, I piled all of the small flasks into my pack. Finding nothing more of interest, I heaved myself to my feet, grunting, and limped out of the house.

[:::]

_The night was dark and cold. Winter rain poured from the heavens, soaking the elf to the bones. It was cold, ice-cold; the kind of cold that crept up the spine and rested at the base of the skull. The young woman bounded down to the wooden platform that circled the tree-city, bare feet soundless as she darted to the door nearest. She rapped on the door quietly, glancing about to make sure she was not being watched. The night stayed silent for a few seconds. Then the door opened, the threshold lit by a single candle. She nodded and slipped inside. _

_The holder of the candle was a stern-faced woman, only just showing the lines of age around her mouth and eyes. She frowned disapprovingly down at the dark-haired rogue, light brows furrowing._

"_You're late, Vala." The woman said curtly. "It's been almost six months."_

"_I apologize." Vala replied humbly, bowing her head in respect. Drops of water flicked from the ends of her long hair. "You know I've been concerned. I could not find the ample opportunity to return until now."_

_The woman sat at a finely carved table and gestured for Vala to join her. The younger woman sat across from her, and for several minutes they were silent._

"_He's healed now." The woman informed her. "You almost killed him. You're lucky I found him that night."_

"_I know."_

_Another silence stretched out. Wind howled quietly outside. _

"_He wants to see you."_

"_I know."_

_The woman leaned forward, clasping her thin hands together in front of her. "He loves you, dear."_

"_I know."_

_More silence. The candle flickered feebly on the table between them._

"_How is mother?" Vala asked quietly._

_The woman faltered. "She . . ."_

"_Where is my mother?" She asked more firmly._

"_She . . . I'm sorry, dear." A tiny, delicate tear ran down her elegant face. "She withered away from grief when you left. She just . . . you were her whole life . . ." _

_The elf stood and turned to the door. The woman stood as well, reaching out for the retreating back of her neighbor. "Vala . . ."_

_The girl brushed her hand away. "I must be going." A mist of rain sprayed in the warm house as she threw open the door and stormed out._

[:::]

My eyes opened slowly. A drop of water whirled through the air and landed on my cheek. I wiped it away with a limp hand. Pain pulsed through my temples. Exhaling, I slowly levered my body into a sitting position. My leg throbbed in dull agony as I groped beside me in the tall, damp grass for my bag. Gripping the worn cloth, I clutched at the bottom for the bottles. Pulling one out, I popped the cork with my teeth, spat it off to the side and threw my head back, taking a heavy draught. The wine was too fruity even to my untrained tongue, but tasted like alcohol and that was plenty good enough for me. When the bottle was half gone the pain in my leg had decreased to a mild ache. I fell back to my previous position and dropped into dreamless sleep.

[…]

When I woke, the sky above me was clear and blue. Whatever sour weather that had been present the night before had blown away, leaving behind nothing but more vile pain in my body and nausea in my gut. The after-effects of the wine were worsened by the pulsating pain in my calf.

I was sprawled in the gold grass, one leg bent and my injured one lying straight. A dark bottle of wine was clutched in my right fist, some of the contents spilled across the dry dirt and soaked into my hair. Coughing, I blinked the crusty edges of my eyes away and sat up. Dried blood was caked on my upper lip and nostrils, courtesy of a broken nose. My mouth was sticky and sealed together and tasted strongly of alcohol, so I sucked in through my nose and laboriously levered myself to my feet. Only bits of my weight could be rested on my injured leg, so when I picked up my bag I was even more off my balance. I wiped my hand across my mouth, rubbing away the flaky blood.

The reason I had stayed in the wilds over night was because I wanted to see more of the grasslands, but with my leg there was no longer a chance of that. I had no choice but to return to Cheydinhal and look for someone who might heal my leg.

An idea occurred to me at the thought. I dipped my hand into my bag and pulled out one of the tiny glass vials I had found in Sha-Keijet's shack. The blue liquid, just a tiny amount, sloshed around inside. This one, unlike the poison, was sealed with red wax. I cut open the wax with my thumb nail, pulled out the cork and sniffed it. The substance smelled sweet as flowers. Spitting, I put the flask to my mouth and sucked the liquid out. It was the consistency of honey. Almost instantly, my entire body was warmed. Bits of strength returned to my limbs. A tickling sensation spread up my bandaged leg. I bent and ripped away the dark cloth to see that the skin had stitched itself together. The muscle underneath still felt severely damaged, but the bleeding had stopped and the chance of infection was dramatically lessened. My senses were sharpened back to their usual level. Not terribly high, but high enough to notice the quiet rustle as grass parted just behind me.

I spun about, brandishing my sword slightly clumsily. "Come out, assassin! I know you have been following me."

Silence.

Swallowing down my frustration, I held my sword at arm's length with one hand and dug out my map with my other. Spinning in a circle, sword outstretched, I touched my finger to the icon that read _Cheydinhal East Gate. _

"You can walk back." I snarled as I was tugged into the howling wind.

[…]

My teeth bit into my lip to hold back a yell as my feet slammed against the ground. Groaning, I took a step forward, and another, and forced myself into a walk. My short trip to the Sanctuary was slow and painful, but eventually I found myself stumbling down the stone hall and pushing open the heavy door. I kept my eyes focused on the wooden door at the far end of the hall, where I was sure that vampire still was, in his cave of a room. Several minutes of heavy limping later I was leaning against the thick door, breathing a bit heavily.

"Vicente." I spoke up to make myself heard.

The vampire glanced up. He was sitting at a desk next to the door, furiously scratching away with a dark quill on a piece of parchment. "Ah, our newest recruit." He said, voice slightly hard. "Has Sha-Keijet met her end?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Excellent." He stood, producing a small pouch from nowhere. "I am afraid that by killing the dogs you have forfeit your bonus, but here is your payment. Now, are you ready for . . ." He trailed off as his gaze dropped to my leg, which I held just a finger's length above the floor to avoid resting weight on it. "What happened?"

"One of Sha-Keijet's dogs." I muttered, glancing away. I did not bother asking how he knew I had killed the hounds. "It is nothing."

"Hm." The Breton hummed. "Even so, I want you to speak to M'raaj-Dar about this before I give you your next contract."

Inwardly gritting my teeth, I bowed my head and hobbled out, listening as the scratching of pen on paper started again. My eyes were focused on my feet, my jaw tight as I focused on putting one foot in front of the other and finding this M'raaj-Dar. As I walked, I weighed the pouch in my hand and peeked inside. I spluttered at the amount of coins inside. It was more money than I had ever possessed.

My surprised thoughts were interrupted when I knocked into someone. I stumbled, my leg burning as I fell hard on it. A few gold coins clattered against the stone, and I quickly threw the pouch in my bag to protect the rest of my earnings as I straightened up. My head whipped to the side to see who had bumped into me to see a Khajiit man in dark robes sneering at me.

"You would not happen to be M'raaj-Dar, would you?" I asked quietly, turning.

"Who's asking, ape?" He scoffed.

"Vicente instructed me to see you. He is concerned about my injury." I gestured to my leg.

"Oh, you're the newest member of the Family." The contempt in his voice was undisguised. "Let me get something straight. The Tenets prevent me from killing you, but I don't have to like you. Don't talk to me unless you want to buy or sell something. Otherwise, get out of my face." He shoved past me, disregarding my statement about my wounds.

I muttered a swear under my breath and, glancing around to make sure I was not being watched, dug my wine bottle out of my bag and took a heavy swig. Sighing, I switched the dark bottle for another little wax-sealed flask of blue liquid and drank that as well. Grinding my teeth together, I forced the limp from my step and marched back down to the vampire's cave for my contract.

Vicente was waiting for me when I returned. "Are you ready?" He asked. He seemed skeptical that I had actually been helped, but continued when I nodded. "This is a contract that requires special care. Use of stealth will be a great asset to you." I said nothing when he paused, so he went on. "In the city of Skingrad you will find a man who calls himself Darien Blackthorn. Of course, that is not his real name, but that is hardly important to the completion of the contract. Blackthorn's death is to be an accident. Now, Blackthorn eats a large meal every day at the height of noon. This is the ideal time to poison his plate, or something to that extent. Do what you see fit, but under no circumstances should you be caught. Blackthorn is notorious for setting deadly traps, and if you are caught—or killed, Sithis forbid—the Black Hand could become compromised." His pale stare was hard as stone. "You will receive a bonus if you can infiltrate Blackthorn's estate, kill him, and escape without setting off any traps or alerting the city guard."

Unable to meet his gaze, I focused on my dirty toenails connected to gracelessly large feet. When only silence followed his orders, I turned and marched out, my mind already set on Skingrad.

[…]

Blackthorn's house was luxurious and large, for the small size of the city. In my eyes, it was the largest building I had seen that belonged to a single man. In Valenwood, no one man was devoted more space than he needed. The forest was preserved but for the cities, which were few and far between. Here, however, men built wherever they pleased as long as large amounts of gold were involved. Something about the monetary gain made me sick. How . . . ironic. I stayed close to the shops, out of the light of the lamps on the street. Night had fallen in my transition through my map, and I was only the slightest bit on edge. I struck a suspicious figure, limping heavily and keeping out of the light. It was only reasonable to jump slightly when I caught the shadow of an approaching guard that was simply doing his rounds.

I snatched out my bottle and took a sip. Wonderful stuff. Helped sooth the nerves. I would have continued drinking but negotiating deadly traps when blind drunk was not a wise strategy.

So I waited. I walked very slowly along the street, waiting for the guard to reach the end of the dark lane so I might slip into Blackthorn's house unnoticed. Eventually, the orange light of the torch faded, and I darted forward, tugging at the lock on the house. It was no use. The lock was beyond both my meager magic abilities and my meager lock-picking abilities. Even if I tried to pick it, I had no picks. Swearing, I lifted myself over the stone wall hiding a grassy courtyard that also housed the back door to the estate. My leg protested as I crouched low, running as fast as I dared and was able. The back door was smaller than and not as polished as the front door, but was locked tight all the same.

Stroking my chin, I glanced over my shoulder before quickly vaulting back over the low wall, hissing when I landed. I limped up the cobble steps of the nearest inn, my teeth aching from the amount of gritting they were doing. It took me only a few minutes to rent a room and slam myself in the small room, tossing two of my empty wine bottles on the bed. Just extra weight in my bag.

There was nothing to do but wait until morning, so I plucked the cork from my last bottle and took and refreshing draught, the dry taste warming my tongue. Sighing, I reclined on the immaculately made sheets and threw back more wine. If I did not know better I would have thought that it tasted smoother with each bottle, but perhaps it was only my mind. It was only after a final, lengthy swig that I dropped down into a heavy, dreamless slumber.

[…]

The next morning found me rolling a reddish-gold apple back and forth across the floor beside me. Perhaps if I stared at the fruit long enough it would end the pounding behind my forehead. Deciding not, I jiggled the top from the small flask that held the green poison and held my face away from the heady fumes. Tilting the glass, I let the thick liquid run out and onto the smooth skin of the apple. I pricked the skin with the nail of my thumb, and almost instantly the toxin was absorbed into the white pulp. I was not sure how much it would take of the stuff to kill a person, but if push came to shove I would just stab him. My main priority was avoiding any and all traps.

Grunting, I pulled myself to my feet and forced myself down the stairs of the inn, to the main room. The Orc landlady was wiping a cloth across the scuffed counter of the bar. I nodded to her and did my best to lightly trot out, but only managed a heavy limp. The sun was shining brightly outside, piercing through any clouds that might have been there. It burned my eyes as I wandered the city until I eventually found an armorer. When I entered the shop, the sharp smell of regularly worked, hot metal hit me. After followed the smell of leather, wood, and sweat. The shop was dingy and dark, lit by a few candles and a feeble ray of light that leaked in through a dust-clogged window. The man behind the counter glanced up in time to see me throw my bag of coins on the counter.

"I want a bow and all the arrows this will buy me." I growled. I had kept a handful to the side for food and such, but only just enough. The ones with sticky fingers always find food, and my hands were practically coated in honey.

The armorer nodded. "As you wish, ma'am." He smiled thinly and rushed off. A few seconds later he came back with a fine silver bow and a quiver half full of equally shiny arrows. He laid them before me. "Of the finest quality, ma'am. I have no doubt that . . ."

"Not what I wanted." I cut him off shortly. "Wooden bow. More arrows. It does not matter if they are of lesser quality." The man nodded uncertainly and swept up the silver weapons.

It took slightly longer for him to find whatever was in the back of the store. My eyes wandered to the unguarded counter. Glancing up, I dodged around the back, slid open the glass counter and pulled out a heavy wooden box. There was a small lock on the latch.

The smith was soon back, this time with a thin, flexible wooden bow and a quiver packed with iron-tipped, roughly hewn arrows. A hint of a smile touched the corner of my mouth before falling away again. I easily swung the bow and arrows across my back and hobbled out, listening to the _thunk-_ing of a small wooden box.


	10. Burn

**Chapter 10**

**Goodness. The 10 chap mark already? Thank you for the encouragement, everyone who reviewed so far! **

**So…****There might be a little bit of an unnerving scene early in this one. I'm sure most of you have read way worse, but ****fair warning, I'll soon be changing the rating.**

**But not because of sex.**

…**Yet.**

**W'P**

I'd like to think that I'm brave. That's a really wonderful personality trait to have. I would love to think I'm the type of person to go rescue someone. ~Rosie Huntington-Whiteley

**Song: Hero, Regina Spektor**

If a random passerby were to wander through the back yard of the Blackthorn estate, they might have looked up to see a sickly-pale elf clinging to the side of the building, grimacing as she tried to pull herself up further in the dead of night. So I struggled, my nails digging into the cracks between stones as my hand latched to a slightly higher point. There was a small balcony far above me; my destination. My leg was burning furiously, but I pressed on. One hand in front of the other, climbing higher, ignoring that my limbs were shaking like autumn leaves in the wind. The stones were sticking at some odd angles, giving me good, mostly-solid handholds. Occasionally a piece would shift loose, and I would painfully have to launch myself to a higher hold before it fell. It was a different experience than climbing through Falinesti, when every branch was either reliable or not. There was no guesswork. It was exercise, pure and simple.

My deathly thin hand latched over the polished wood railing of the balcony as I reached the top, flinging myself over the railing and landing hard on the balls of my feet. I stayed there, frozen, for a few seconds before falling forward on one knee with a small gasp. My eyes were fixed on the crack between two stones, my breath rushing in and out of me. A small spider stepped lightly out of his web in the little crack and proceeded to scurry away. Internally groaning, I straightened up and slid through the unlocked balcony door.

When I entered, I was alone. Moonlight shone through a nearby window, dimly illuminating a small room, the only occupants of which were a small desk, a bookshelf and a locked chest. Not bothering with the chest, I focused instead on stepping over a thin tripwire that was set over the room's threshold. The line was barely visible in the dark, but I carefully avoided it. As I stepped down the stairs, however, and into a small, tastefully-decorated dining room, I started becoming suspicious. This man was a master of traps. Why was one easily-detectable wire the only thing I had encountered so far?

After a bit more sneaking around, I found a small kitchen with a low stone ceiling that almost brushed my head. On the counter was a small wicker basket that held a variety of shiny fruit. I pulled my apple from my bag, but hesitated. The poison in the apple was a pathetically weak one, and even so there was no guarantee that Blackthorn would eat it. I set it there anyway.

I pulled my bow from my back, nocked an arrow, and fell into a crouch. I crept silently out of the kitchen, keeping a sharp eye for pressure plates, tripwires, and somewhere that could lead into a bedroom. The kitchen was on the second floor, and the study was on its own extra alcove, so did that mean the bedroom was on the ground floor? No, there must be more to the second floor. The strange setup of the building confused me. I was contemplating where to go next as I padded through a sitting room and stopped. Two large chairs sat facing a cold fireplace. Frowning, I continued on a few more steps before stopping again. I was definitely being watched. A chill rattled up my spine, actually causing me to physically shudder. I swiveled around to stare at a large armchair I had passed. It was shadowed at the angle it was at, but a form generally resembling that of a human could be made out in the darkness. To be safe, I pulled back on my bow string and took careful aim. The string sang a familiar tune as the fletching brushed my cheek.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Startled, I let the arrow fly and heard a low thunk as it struck something. Orange light flickered to life as a man lit a candle—illuminating my arrow dug in the wood of the chair—and stood. He was a thin, leering High Elf, much younger than I expected him to be, perhaps thirty winters or less. Sandy hair sprouted from his head like badly tamed grass as he sauntered over to me. When he got closer I hissed and pointed another stone arrowhead at him.

"Oh, don't act so surprised." Blackthorn scoffed. "I've seen you, sulking around Skingrad; I know you're after me. You know, new people stick out like sore thumbs here, especially members of a certain Brotherhood."

He was now uncomfortably close to me, within a few meters. I shot my second arrow, but was momentarily confused when the arrow clattered to the floor across the room, Blackwood nowhere to be seen.

A half second later my head cracked against the wall, a choking force pressing on my throat. Blackwood was forcing me against the wall, growling something unintelligible with sour breath in my ear. He had tossed the candle away, and over his shoulder I could see that the fire had caught onto the fine curtains hanging from the covered windows.

I instinctively scratched and thrashed at his face and eyes as I tried to break away, cursing and screeching. Thin strips of skin peeled away under my tearing nails. Seeing he was losing, Blackthorn threw me to the ground and fell on top of me faster than I could react, one hand over my mouth and the other ripping at the waist of my greaves. I reverted to clawing and spitting like an animal, but fear was crawling up my throat like a poison. The fire was crawling up the walls, and smoke began to quickly cloud the room.

A trickle of blood spattered across my cheek, and Blackthorn's weight vanished. I heard a scuffle next to me, then silence. When I cracked open my eyes, Darien Blackthorn was lying in a growing pool of blood, his throat neatly slit from ear to ear. He looked a terrible mess, with deep gashes across his face and hands, fallow skin and a throat gaping open. I clumsily crawled away from the body as fast as I was able and curled against the wall, shaking from head to toe. Now I could feel what I had not before: another lurking presence, the chilling sense of being watched without watching. A disturbingly familiar sense. Nothing happened for several seconds except the concerning spread of the fire, which was beginning to roar. The entire far wall was covered in ragged orange heat. A primal instinct told me to run, but I was frozen, as immoveable as a stone.

I was suddenly swept up by an invisible pair of arms. I jerked sharply in shock, but did nothing beyond that as I was carried like a child through several dimly lit rooms and finally set down in a small anteroom. My legs wobbled and I crumpled against the wall, still shaking, hands tightly gripping my bow, and stared where I assumed my hidden guest was. Smoke drifted through the doorway and leaked into the room, clouding the air. A crash echoed through the manor as a heavy beam smashed down. I coughed lightly, then sharply as I was suddenly ripped away from the wall and held almost above the ground painfully tight by my ribcage.

"Pay attention! Leave now. I will cover your tracks." The voice barked. "Find Vicente and tell him you completed the contract as instructed."

I coughed again, squinting through the thickening smoke and watering eyes. "Wait . . ." The door was pulled open by my guest and I was roughly shoved out.

The door slammed shut with a puff of smoke.

I was instantly soaked to the skin, thanks to newly-arrived rain. I spat and limped down the cobble street as fast as I was able, out of the city, and then blindly through the wilderness. The rain clouded my vision, tree branches appeared from nowhere to block my view and snap at my face, sudden weak spots in the earth created holes that I tripped in and sent me sprawling across the muddy ground. The thundering downpour surrounded me, crushing me in on all sides, throwing me off. I did not know what direction I was headed. My next footing was suddenly devoid of anything solid, and I pitched forward, skidding hard on my elbows and wrists, mud and water spraying my face and mouth. Spitting out soil-laden saliva, I peered up to catch a glimpse of something dark, a circular splotch in the gray wall of rain. A cave.

Without thinking, I wrenched myself to my feet and lurched forward the dozen steps needed for me to stumble inside and collapse.

[…]

I groaned and curled sharply into myself as sunlight shone red into my eyelids. Groaning, I sat up and popped my neck, listening to the satisfying snaps. The cave I had found refuge in was damp and dark, even at the late hour of the morning it was. Some type of bluish fungus was growing near where I had collapsed. Thick cobwebs hung from the ceiling deeper in. My eyes hurt as I stumbled up a short incline and out into the sunlight.

The cave was in some type of small valley. Steep grass and stone walls scooped up around me, surrounding a still pool of blue water. Paths of upturned dirt and grass were gouged into the earth where I had most slid down into the little gully. Before doing anything else, I peeled off my leather armor and slipped into the pond. The water was mind-numbingly refreshing after the blurred events of the previous night. I submerged my entire body and remained underwater until my lungs ached and I burst above again. The outsides of my arms were scratched and bright red, hot underneath the skin, as though I had been burned. Sighing, I gingerly prodded my hips, where dark bruises and smaller scratches covered my lower stomach and waist, trying to ignore how close things had come to being so much worse the previous night.

Which brought my mind to the topic of the invisible stranger—or rescuer, I suppose one could call him. For the brief moment I had heard him—for I was sure he was male—speak, I had recognized the voice from somewhere, but . . . I could not possibly remember for the life of me. The voice was starkly familiar, and on the tip of my tongue, but I decided to let it lie and count myself fortunate that he had been a member of the Brotherhood and not a Skingrad guard.

I slithered from the pool and leaned against a warm boulder, letting the morning sun dry my skin and perhaps turn it a healthier color. I pulled my wine bottle from my bag and sipped at it. The liquid tasted like ash. Perhaps in another life I might have cried, but crying was weakness. Instead, I continued drinking. Drinking was nice.

After I was mostly dry I stood and shook any remained water from my skin. Picking through my bag, I paused for a moment as my hands fingers found a smooth surface. My armor from Ocheeva. My thumb smoothed over the polished, purplish leather as I considered whether to wear it or not. My other armor was still very damp, not including all of the scuffs and cuts in the leather that made it hardly any protection at all. The ties in the front of the greaves that tightened the waist were also severed from Blackthorn's . . . attacks. The sight nauseated me.

I firmly decided to wear the Brotherhood's armor. The cuirass fit quite well, as did the rest of the matching set, and the dark material had been worn down just enough so that it stayed looking bright and new, but was still worn in so much as to be pliable. I rested the hood on my shoulders and pulled it up over my head, then stringing my bow and quiver across my back.

My map whirled me away to Cheydinhal, where I automatically marched to the abandoned house and from there down into the Sanctuary. Vicente was now in the common area, reading another book.

"That was quite a scene you caused." The vampire stated casually as I approached.

"Blackthorn was expecting me. He abandoned his traps and wished to kill me himself." I explained quietly.

"I trust you took care of him?" When he glanced up, I caught an unnerving flash of his fangs.

". . . Of course."

Vicente stood, grinning, all manner of intimidation gone. "Wonderful. Unfortunately, the fire caused a great deal of guards to become suspicious, but no-one suspects the Brotherhood. So I have decided that you receive your bonus. You have proved your loyalty to your Family, and I am also promoting you to the rank of Slayer."

I was unsure how to react. A promotion was a reason to . . . celebrate? I was becoming respected for killing people. Perhaps celebration was not the word I was looking for. Vicente handed me a weighty pouch of coins and a long, curved dagger.

I frowned and held up the blade. "Why this?"

"Call it an extra perk." Vicente said. "It is Sufferthorn, and yours now. Use it well, Sister." When I nodded my hesitant appreciation, the Breton continued. "Now, when you are ready to receive your third assignment, return to me."

One more nod and I turned away, leaving the Sanctuary and laying Sufferthorn in my bag, grabbing my map at the same time. Skingrad deserved another visit.

[…]

It was early morning when I arrived in Skingrad. Rays of weak sunlight peered over the stone walls surrounding the city, bathing the entire scene in a peachy glow. As I walked, I spotted a plume of smoke rising into the morning sky. My suspicions were confirmed as I got closer: Blackthorn's manor, now nothing more than a pile of burned rubble. I walked past the ruin quickly and proceeded to stroll around the town. I was not sure where to look, but surely it would not be that hard to . . .

Something warped in front of me, no more than a few feet. I blinked hard and looked again, but it was gone. After a few more moments of more nothing, I continued on at a slower pace. Not a few steps later something touched my shoulder in what was now a rather familiar gesture. It could have been a stray leaf, or a careless passerby, or a worryingly large insect had I not known better. I stopped, flicked out my map, and was sucked away. There was one more place I wished to go before returning to the Sanctuary.

Snow stirred around my toes when I landed just inside the Bruma city gates. After getting my bearings straight, I slipped out the gate and broke into a run, leaving half-melted footprints behind me as I jogged up the cobble path that wound through the forest. My breath was a frozen fog that was brushed behind me as I ran on. I eventually skid to a stop at the entrance of Cloud Ruler Temple. I spent no time admiring the view and simply pushed through the gate, closing it behind me.

A horse whinnied loudly from the small stables. Two Blades were sparring on a square of trodden-down grass in the courtyard. I skirted past, not wanted to distract them, and entered the main temple. The inside was dimly lit, a fire roaring in a fireplace at the far side of the room. Tables were set out in rows, a couple Blades sitting and talking or eating. On one table a robed man was surrounded by books of varying sizes, so deeply immersed in the one he was reading his nose was almost touching the pages. I silently sat across from him, interlacing my fingers and resting my chin on them.

"Hello, Martin." I greeted. The heir started and looked up immediately in surprise before grinning.

"I certainly didn't expect to see you again, Vala." He said, smiling. "What business do you have up here?"

"A social visit." I lowered my clasped hands to the table. "Would you happen to know where I could find Nulem?"

Martin gestured vaguely at a door to the right. "He's usually off reading or eating. He does quite a lot of both."

A short silence followed. I gestured at the books stacked around him. "What have you been working on with all this reading?"

"Terribly dark things," Martin answered, sending a sour look at the pale Daedric tome. He glanced up and waved a hand at the thing. "But you needn't worry yourself. Your friend has been a tremendous help, by the way."

I nodded. "I thought he might." I paused before continuing. "I will leave you to your work, Martin."

"Thank you. Farewell, Vala." The heir replied as I stood and walked around him, to the door he had suggested. I emerged in a well-lit area with two more benches. More Blades were lounging around, eating, mostly, except for one, who was standing by several short bookshelves, arms piled high with books. I silently approached the Blade and lay a hand on his shoulder. He jumped more violently than Martin had, books spilling out of his hands. I managed to catch a couple, but most fell anyway.

"V-Vala!" He stuttered, and then grinned. "You're here!"

"Good to see you too, Nulem." I handed his books back. He quickly rushed to a nearby table and set them down, upsetting a basket of raspberries and a small collection of forks. I sat down and ate one of the berries still in the basket, watching Nulem sit down across from me. The dirt from Oblivion had been washed off, his skin tanned from hard labor. I noticed small blisters near his chin, where I suspected the helmet had dug in. His nails were filed down, callouses formed on his fingers and palms. His ragged blond hair had been cropped short.

"So, what have you been up to out there in Cyrodiil?" My friend asked pleasantly.

"I am actually more interested in knowing what _you _are doing." I leaned forward. "What have you and Martin been researching? Why is he reading Daedric text?"

Nulem froze, indecisiveness written all across his features. "I don't . . . know if I should tell you."

I slapped my palm down on the tabletop, the wooden chair screeching across the floor as I stood. "Do not play me for a child! Do not think I cannot take hard news!"

Nulem sighed. "There has been an invasion from Oblivion. I can't believe you haven't heard of this. It's all everyone talks about now. Gates like the one in Kvatch are opening everywhere. The Blades don't know what to do. People are joining the Mythic Dawn, a cult that worships Daedra. There's mass panic. Martin, Jauffre and I are getting to the bottom of this." He muttered. "We're going to open a portal to Mankar Cameron's Paradise and stop this madness."

I let out a long, exasperated sigh and rubbed my temples, throwing myself back down in the chair. "Nulem, I am not going to help you. This is your fight." He opened his mouth to protest, but I held up a hand to cut him off. "I just stopped by to say hello and see if you were well. I am afraid I will not be visiting for quite some time after this."

"Why?" Nulem asked in disappointment. At that moment, he looked so much like the young boy I had known so long ago. A lifetime ago.

"I have things to take care of." I reached out and touched his hand. "Do the same for yourself, my friend."

[…]

**Err, a little short, but that's that. Review! **


	11. See

**Chapter 11**

**Thanks for sticking with me, the few people who read this. It's been a while since an update. "Life" got in the way, serious things, but I'm sure you guys don't wanna hear 'bout all that junk. Anyway, this chapter was a bit rough on me for whatever reason, but it's done! Enjoy.**

**W'P**

**P.S. Yes, the song is a joke. Just read.**

Life is a tragedy to those who feel and a comedy to those who think. –Horace Walpole

**Song: I'm Into Something Good, The Bird and The Bee**

The moment I stepped out the door of Cloud Ruler Temple I traveled back to Cheydinhal, to the Sanctuary to receive my contract. With all my flying about, time seemed to have passed far faster than natural, and by the time I slid through the door of the abandoned house, it was already early evening. The main area of the Sanctuary was unoccupied when I entered. Most of the other Family members must have been off travelling to other contracts to make it there before dark.

Unsure where Vicente would be at such an hour, I hesitantly checked his quarters. The vampire was there, of course. I wondered if he ever left the Sanctuary. He seemed to be waiting for me, expecting me as though he could smell my very presence in the underground haven. For the briefest of moments, just as I stepped around the corner and over the threshold to the room, Vicente's pale gaze flicked over my shoulder before returning to me.

"Welcome home, Sister." He said. "Are you prepared for your contract?"

"I am." I risked a quick glance over my shoulder, and although no one was there, I felt a strange suspicion tug on my mind, but I put it behind me and focused my attention back to my superior.

"Excellent. This next contract, I believe, will be an interesting challenge to you." When I remained silent, he continued. "There is an Imperial guard by the name of Jerem Leroner, who is currently in the Imperial City. You are to infiltrate the barracks in which he is staying and escape without alerting the rest of the guard or killing anyone but Leroner."

I waited for him to continue, but he did not. "Is it in the barracks in which he must die?" I asked.

Vicente considered the question for a moment. "I suppose not; the fact was not specified. It would be preferable, but the location of this kill is not what will grant you your bonus—remaining anonymous will, however." He held out a hand, smiling. "Now go, dear Sister, and walk always in the shadow of Sithis."

[…] […] […]

My legs were heavy. I noticed that feeling coming around quite often recently. Sometimes I felt too tired to move. So it was on my most recent trip to the wilds north of Bruma that I decided I was not going to take a break. It was a matter of endurance—you stood until you collapsed, or you did not stand at all. It was whilst I sat on a small boulder that I made this decision. Perhaps I was losing my mind. The second thought of many that intruded upon me that afternoon on the boulder. It seemed a distinct possibility. Feeling as though I were being watched, working myself to death, killing for a living, sitting alone in the snow. I felt . . . lean, like meat left to dry too long in the sun. There was nothing to me anymore.

I did not have a heart. Now I had a gaping black cavern. My brain was gone as well. My skull was a vat of water with a pinecone floating in it. I did not even have a stomach. There was only a wineskin attached to my middle with a string. I was no longer the girl that had left Valenwood, eyes shining with foolish hope for a new life. Now I was a strip of meat with a wineskin, a pinecone and a hole.

It was that same afternoon on the boulder, with the noon sun gleaming blindingly off the scant snow, that I saw the fateful shape. It was a little thing, barely noticeable if I had not already been looking for something like it. The shape was already protruding from another shape, a half-melted one of my bare right foot in a patch of snow. The second shape was covering the two smallest toes of the footprint, which was why I initially noticed it. The shape was a second footprint.

So it was on that afternoon on the boulder, where the wind was blowing icy cold despite the shining sun, that I concluded with absolute certainty the presence of my follower. He was a terribly clever follower, I could grant him that much. Even in the snow he found a way to stay undetected. Not sure how to proceed with my newfound knowledge, and not knowing if my follower had somehow read my facial expression, neutral as it was, and knew what conclusion I had come to, I continued sitting.

A shiver jolted up my spine, shaking me from head to toe. I had little wish to leave my boulder that afternoon, but it was bitter cold and my thin armor did little to protect me from the biting wind. It was freezing in the north, even in late summer as it was. I rubbed my hands together quickly, generating a bit of heat. As I pulled my hands apart again, a sudden burst of warmth jumped between my palms. Frowning, I repeated my rubbing motion, but nothing happened. After a moment of thought, I recalled the Daedric word for fire and muttered the guttural syllables whilst flicking my wrist half-heartedly, feeling slightly foolish. This time it was visible; a small circle of flame that leaped from my fingers and died a few inches in front of me.

Curious, I jumped off my boulder and in front of a tall tree, rubbing my fingers together and wincing at a sting in my leg. I cast my fire spell again, now calling the name louder and aiming my hand at the tree's frosty trunk. A ball of flame shot from my hand and burned away against the bark. Several more practice tests, however, and I could tell I had emptied my meager store of magicka and was exhausted. Breathing out tiredly, I quickly unfolded my map and aimed my finger at the tiny icon that was designated to _The Imperial City, Market District, _but stopped my finger a split second before I touched the tiny towers. The slight, very slight weight on my shoulder instantly disappeared, but the damage was done. I spun, my hand swinging through the air.

At this point there was no stopping it—I could see my own gloved hand moving, slowed as though the air had been replaced by honey. My breath curled out of my mouth in a fog. My teeth were clenched, my boots twisting sharply, tearing up light grass and dirt. Time resumed its normal pace, and it was only when I thought my sudden strike was for naught that my wrist was caught mid-swing.

I tore my wrist away. "Why are you following me?" I demanded. There was a short, silent pause, where snow began to fall in the pale sun of that afternoon.

Then, and with an air of proud resignation descending upon the icy scene, the invisibility spell melted away, exposing a tall figure in a black, hooded robe, in complete contrast with the muted colors of the wilderness. The edge of a jawline was slightly distinguishable under the shadow of the hood. The resigned atmosphere disappeared and was replaced with a mild interest; I could feel myself being watched as though I were no more than a particularly interesting species of beetle. I took a cautionary step back, although I was perfectly aware that we were technically of the same allegiance. However, after my encounter with M'raaj Dar, I also knew that not all Family members were of good will.

"Do not act so surprised." The man answered darkly. "It is not like you were unaware of my presence."

"I was not surprised until now." My eyebrows rose, then furrowed, then fell. "You were the one who saved me from the fire at Blackthorn's mansion." It was not a question, but even as I spoke the words another realization came to mind, one that had been hiding away in the depths of my broken pinecone. I tilted my head back, observing my follower in a new light. "You are also the assassin who first visited me before and after I completed my initiation."

The response was delayed a few seconds, as though the man were choosing his words carefully. "Lucien Lachance; I am a Speaker for the Black Hand."

High-ranked, then. I expected nothing less. "You did not answer my question."

"I have been periodically watching your progress, and being of a lower rank than myself, it is my duty to report your advances to the Black Hand." The Imperial said shortly. "It's protocol."

"Is it also protocol to interfere with contracts?" I asked scathingly.

"Would you rather I had not?" The question hung in the air like a fog. Realizing that I had talked myself into a corner, I quickly retraced my steps.

"Why follow me? Surely there are more pressing matters that you have to look into, being a Speaker."

"There are not as many new recruits as you may think. Your services to Sithis are a priority."

I folded my arms as a slightly awkward silence descended. "Now what, Lachance? My job is to simply allow you to follow me wherever I go, never acknowledge your presence, and simply continue with my contracts, correct?"

"It would seem so."

"That seems to lack a bit of tact."

"It is your own fault for forcing me to reveal myself."

"That is outrageous." I countered sourly. "You did not have to do anything, and it is _your _own fault for getting lazy." I once again unfolded my map, eyes not leaving the stoic assassin. "I suppose I have no choice but to let you come with me. I am done sparring words with you."

"I could not have put it better myself." Lachance replied as his usual invisibility spell washed over him. Now the familiar, slight pressure on my shoulder was replaced with a small bump of my arm. I crashed through the howling, whistling wind and emerged inside the Imperial City's Market District. Time, of course, had passed, so it was now only a couple hours after sunset. Not many citizens were out at this hour, but the occasional urchin or drunken pair of friends would fall into the light of a lamp before fading out again. It did not take long after I moved off the beaten road to find the bedroll of a beggar, and the man who owned it. The pauper looked up as I approached, dirt-covered face illuminated by the wavering light of his small fire.

"What can you tell me of a guard named Jerem Leroner?" I asked.

The beggar shrugged. "Can't say I know much, that is, fer free."

I had known this was coming, so I easily pulled out a few gold septims and held them so they were visible. The man's eyes lit up. "Now, I need to know where Leroner is every day, what he does, when he is alone and when he is around other guards. Have the information by tomorrow at this time and you can have ten extra coins." I tossed the small fee at the flabbergasted beggar.

"O'course, ma'am!" He said enthusiastically, standing. He had no shoes. "I'll get righ' on it now, I will!" He hurried off, still staring at the coins in his dirty hand.

I walked away then, not knowing what to do, exactly. The boredom eventually, inevitably, led me to rent a room in a cheap inn and buy two bottles of cheap wine and lay down on the cheap sheets on a cheap bed. I was cheap. My feet were sore, so I took off my nice boots without even sitting up and took another healthy swig of alcohol. I was very unused to wearing shoes; in fact, the more thought I put into it, I wondered if, indeed, I had ever worn shoes. After concluding that I had not, in fact, had anything on my feet besides dirt, I wrenched myself into a sitting position and walked to a cheap wooden table in the corner, where cheap clayware was set out in two clumsy sets. I picked up one of the short goblets and sloppily poured some wine into one, then the other.

Picking up one and the bottle, I sat back on the bed and gestured loosely at the other goblet on the table. "Help yourself. My treat." I drained my own cup in one gulp without breathing, glancing up at the now-visible Lachance.

"That is very generous, but I prefer to be aware of all my senses." The slightest dry, partially amused tone colored his voice.

"Hm. I agree." I replied as I finished my second cup. "I am finding myself wondering something, Lachance."

"And what would that be?" Now he sounded more annoyed than anything; perhaps bored, as well.

"How did you get out of Blackthorn's house that night?" My tongue slipped just the tiniest bit on the 'th' sounds in the question.

"A performer never reveals his secrets, honored Sister." He countered, sounding amused once again.

"Hm." I sniffed, but said nothing else. Honor, when combined with everything else in life, felt like a waste of energy to me. The next few minutes were silent as my vision gradually faded out.

[…][…][…]

Once again, my wake-up call was a slamming ache in my temples and a wave of mild nausea. I silently berated myself for drinking, lifting one heavy arm to rest my hand on my forehead. Groaning quietly, I heaved myself up to my feet, which I noticed were bare. Soaked into the wood of the floor was a dark stain of wine, a tipped-over clay goblet lying next to my boots. An untouched, identical cup was sitting on the little table, still full to the brim with dark liquid. The sight made my faint nausea become more pronounced, so I quickly pulled on my boots, feet protesting, and limped out of the inn. The morning was foggy and pale, but there were people and merchants up and about besides. It was far too early to meet the pauper I had "hired", so I decided instead to take a long, long walk and clear some of the pain from my skull.

From the Market District I moved to an area my map labeled as the Elven Gardens District, which turned out to be a housing district composed almost entirely of tightly-pressed, identical white stone two-story houses. The area was intensely boring and the people were insufferably pompous, so I continued on without a backwards glance. In the next district, the Talos Plaza District, I could instantly tell that this was where the wealthy lived. A large statue of a dragon posed in the middle of a clean, spacious stone courtyard. The few people I saw were dressed in finery and held themselves high. The looks they cast me were of suspicion and sneering distaste, so I quickly migrated to the side of the street and stayed there.

The next ten minutes or so passed with little consequence. A large temple sat stoically in the middle of the Temple District; statues of the Nine Divines stood proudly in the strange, grassy Arboretum, and I was forced to walk around the huge girth of the Arena before once again arriving in the Market District. Having walked a full circle and found nothing noteworthy other than the general formal, religious air around the city, I retreated to a short decline that led to a rectangular pool of water, hidden near the gate to Green Emperor Way. White lilies sat lazily in the still water, bobbing up and down as I dangled my feet in the cool liquid. Something about water soothed me. It was melted ice.

I tore a flower from its roots in the bottom of the pool and began to rip the petals off systematically. Each jagged oval of pinkish white fluttered end over end to land in the blue melted ice, and was pushed down a few feet by a small brush of wind. After the soft ripples settled, I glanced into the water and was mildly surprised at the feral person looking back at me.

The woman was on the border of being a beast. Her hair stuck up in tangled angles, filth and grease holding it there, unhidden by the hood that kept down to avoid suspicion. Even the sleek armor that hung on her shoulders could not disguise the fact that she was as bony as a skeleton, her cheeks and skin as pale and gaunt as one. The blue that had previously been her eyes was so grotesquely out of place on her face; the weirdly dark lashes, sunken sockets and purplish sleep-shadows did not help in creating the illusion that her eyes were far too large for her thin face. The bones in her nose were crooked, leaving the bridge at a slightly off angle. Lips were cracked and unevenly colored, partially stained by wine and paled from peeling skin. Large, pointed ears hung weakly from the sides of her head.

I blinked. The animal-woman blinked back. Her eyes were cold and dead. I leaned against the short stone wall and let my lids slide closed, not caring that I looked like I had switched my body with that of a half-decayed corpse. If anything, looking this horrendously death-like made my . . . _job_ all that much more fitting. I fell away into sleep listening to the water quietly slosh against the stone.

[…][…][...]

_The only thing I saw was a mirror. Or rather, did not see. The second I opened my eyes, the surface shattered. Cold shards flew into my face._

[…][...][…]

Hours later, I was pacing along the shoreline of the Waterfront District—if it could even be called that. The "district" consisted mainly of awful little sheds that had been thrown together with half-rotted wood and were occupied solely by the severely poverty-stricken and criminals . . . or at least that is what it looked like. The sun was grazing the horizon, and I knew I would soon have to return to the back alleys of the Market District to meet the beggar, assuming he was even there. Money guaranteed did not mean information given.

I continued pacing for a few more minutes, watching my toes crush into the moist sand, leaving large footprints that were then partially washed away by a dutifully timely tide. My calf throbbed as regularly as the tide, a small lump of pain crawling up to my brain with every step of my left foot. It was almost welcome—it gave me something to focus on. My pacing and the tide were only sounds on the quiet beach, the rhythmic sounds creating a bland symphony I could march to.

My stride was interrupted when I was approached by an eager-looking beggar—the very man I had hired to quite literally stalk Jerem Leroner for a day. He was grinning from ear to ear, the dirt caked along his cheeks cracking.

"I found him, ma'am." He informed me. My expectant silence was enough of an invitation for him to continue. "He gets up 'round 'bout five in the mornin', I'd say. Then he goes to his guardhouse, which is the one between the Temple an' the Arboretum Districts, I'm thinkin'. Stays there 'bout an hour and eats his mornin' meal, takes about thirty minutes, then goes an' stands guard at the gate between the two districts for 'bout two hours, then switches to the other side, goes another two hours. Patrols both districts for another couple hours, then goes back to his place in the guardhouse, I'm thinkin'. Eats his evenin' meal with some friends o' his, then goes home. Keeps a permanent room in Luther Broad's Boardin' House."

"Much obliged. Here is the promised reward." I thanked him shortly and tossed him a random handful of coins that seemed a good shot more than ten. The man stammered out some fervent thanks as he grabbed up his gold and hurried away. A rustle of salty wind stirred my few strands of hair not caught in a knot as I turned back to gaze at the opposite shore of the bay. I knew for a fact I was alone—now that I had become officially aware of Lachance's semi-regular presence, it was very easy to tell when he was there or not. And now I was alone. Blissfully alone.

The walk back to the Market District felt very long. My leg hurt a bit more. I got back to my inn and paid for another room. I finished my second bottle of wine. Instead of sleeping, however, I stayed up and methodically began sharpening my arrows, not caring that they were already quite pointy. After I had gone through my entire quiver, I slightly clumsily undid my armor and tossed it off to the side. I sat back down on the cheap bed and examined my scars. Several large, roughly circular ones in two crescent-moon shapes on my left calf. Blotchy, purplish bruises on my lower stomach. A long, thin scar on the back of my hand. Tiny healing marks on my palms where my nails had dug in.

My hands then moved up through my ratty hair, where I once again discovered the presence of two small bumps. I wondered how those had come to be. I did not remember getting them in Valenwood, or any time during my time with the Brotherhood—which led me to believe that something must have happened to me between those two periods of time. There was an infuriating blank in my memory there, however, and something in my attributed that to how I had gotten the bumps. I had no want to focus at the time, though, as I was heavily intoxicated. For the second time in two days, I passed out.

[…][…][…]

My goal was the boarding house.

Any attempt to reach Leroner in the barracks was foolish. If it was against the rules of the contract, then well . . . that is just too bad. Going to the barracks was suicide. So I quickly located Luther Broad's Boarding House, a decent inn in the Elven Gardens District. My first few waking hours were spent rubbing my temples, drinking water, and wondering how I was going to get into the place after taking a quick, casual walk around the District. There were no windows to sneak into, so it seemed my contract demanded yet more money of me. Before I carried out my plan, I visited a nearby tailor owned by a sneering Altmer woman and bought an uncomfortable dress.

I waited until the late afternoon before entering the Luther Broad's and purchasing a room and a bottle of beer, on a whim. I put it in my bag for later. The room was average. I stayed there for another two hours, sitting on the bed and running a small stone down the length of my stolen sword. The gentle grinding was an appealing sound. When the blade was sharp enough to sever a dropped hair, I put the sword aside and did the same for Sufferthorn. When that was done, I pulled my armor off and set it in my bag, removing the dress I had bought. It was green. I threw it on and pulled my fingers through my hair to relieve at least some of the knots there. I left my boots on, however, knowing that I would need to run comfortably at some point, and the annoyingly long skirt hid the dark footwear anyway.

Heavy footsteps groaned up the stairs. They clunked past, the wooden floorboards creaking. The door of the room next to mine opened, and then closed. I waited a second more before standing, pushing my sword into my bag, and walking out of my room. Locking my jaw, I used Sufferthorn to cut a small lock of my hair away, but continued with the knife, purposely giving my hand a small nick. I let it bleed a few seconds and wiped a bit on my front before slipping the blade hilt-first into my sleeve. Sighing, I popped my neck and knocked lightly on the door.

There was a pause, and then a rustling, then the door opened. I was faced with a tall, heavy-set Imperial with creepily long-lashed eyes. He seemed surprised to see me—he immediately opened the door further, standing up straighter. "Well, hello. What can I do for you?"

I put on a light Bosmeri accent when I spoke, also making my voice more timid than usual. "I cut myself." I held up the lock of hair and my bleeding thumb. "Do you have bandages?"

"Oh," Leroner blinked, eyes scanning me in a thoroughly unpleasant manner. "Sure. Come on in while I grab 'em."

I walked inside, standing just next to the door. Leroner turned around and began rifling through his small pack, looking for bandages I did not need. Before I . . . took care of business, so to speak, I needed to be sure this was my mark.

"What is your name?" I asked docilely, cringing inwardly at my tone.

"Jerem Leroner, in the Imperial Watch." He looked over his shoulder briefly to grin at me. "But you can call me Jerem." That was that, then. I rolled up my sleeves and dropped Sufferthorn into my palm when Leroner turned back.

"So, what's your name, miss?" The Imperial asked as he procured a roll of white bandages. I tapped him on the shoulder, and the man turned around.

No more words were exchanged—I simply sliced the knife across his throat in one swift move. Blood sprayed across the front of my nice, horrid dress and Leroner collapsed, scarlet pooling on the floor of the inn. I plucked the bandages from his clenched hand, as well as the gold from his bag. I threw off my dress and put it in my bag, donned my armor, and wiped off any remaining blood with a scrap of bandage. I put the scrap in my bag as well and let my fingers briefly linger on the smooth wood of the bow, still resting at the bottom with my arrows. I left the inn briskly, ignoring the curious looks of the other customers, drunk or otherwise. When I was outside, I waited for a few seconds before I was dashed away to Bruma once more. Back in the cold, it was the darkest part of the night after the customary skipping of time. I dusted a rock off of snow, laid my bandage scrap and dress on the boulder, and promptly lit the two items on fire with my newfound spell. The glow illuminated the shifting form of Lachance on the opposite side as me.

No words were exchanged. For a reason I was unable to fathom, I felt a prick of pride jab me at being able to hold the Speaker's gaze for more than thirty seconds. It was several minutes before I finally looked away, back at the smoldering remains of the abominable green dress. I brushed the ashes into the snow and ground them there with the heel of my boot. An icy breeze rustled across the pine-occupied tundra.

I was the first to break the silence. "I am returning to Cheydinhal. Do you wish to be dropped off elsewhere?"

"Would my pride allow it?" Lachance answered dryly. After another pause, he said, "Bravil."


	12. Wilt

**Chapter 12**

**Yeah, so there's a little bit of text that has been copied. But call it my little break…I'll try my best not to do it again. Also, settle down because there's a lot that goes on here and it is looong. **

**W'P**

Hunger, revenge, to sleep are petty foes, 

But only death the jealous eyes can close. -William Wycherley

**Song: Bulletproof, La Roux**

Months passed.

My life continued. I carried out several more contracts for the Dark Brotherhood, steadily rising in rank and infamy. In certain parts of Cyrodiil, there was a warrant for my arrest. I ignored such threats by the less than competent guard, however, and simply continued. Along with my contracts I was occasionally accompanied by Lucien Lachance, and over time we developed what some might call a professional relationship. He never interfered with my methods, and though we spoke little, we came to the conclusion that I would allow him to quite literally stalk me if he agree to not be constantly at my heels. Life, for the most part, in a relative sense, in the eyes of some, was good.

It was near the anniversary of my fleeing Valenwood that I made my biggest mistake.

It was an average assignment—I was required to hunt a Breton magician, Fenrun, who had shut himself deep within a system of caves. Being on the hunt, I had not eaten or slept and refused to until I finished the contract. The only things accompanying me this time were feral animals, as Lachance was off taking care of some business or other with the Brotherhood. Things had gotten complicated recently within the Black Hand, and I was not bothered in the slightest by his absence.

So I crept deeper, arrows always nocked, weak healing spells and concoctions always at my fingertips. The ground was slick and the caves dark, though I dared not light a torch. It was a long time later, after dodging several traps, that I reached the lair of the mage. Candles were set up at several scarred tables, wax slowly dripping onto open scrolls and books scattered around the room. Several human skulls sat on dug-out shelves of rock, as well as on the floor. A roughly-made bed of badly skinned animal furs was lying forlornly in a corner. Alchemy ingredients of all kinds sat in different types of glass and stone instruments—one had tiny strips of meat flopped over the edge, cooking. My stomach growled in protest at the weak scent.

Approaching the well-made mortar and pestle with the meat, I noticed a fire still burning. No sane person would leave a fire burning around all this paper . . . unless—

I spun around, bow half-drawn, just in time to stumble out of the path of a fire spell. A maliciously grinning Breton was staring at me on the other side of the wide cave, the remnants of his invisibility spell still fading away. I blinked hard, nocking an arrow and aiming carefully. I was confused as to how I had missed such a thing as a feeble invisibility spell, when I had become so skilled at recognizing them thanks to Lachance. All the same, this damn wizard had his death written on my red-fletched shafts. One shot through the air, but Fenrun was already running, black and red smoke curling down his arm as a Daedric Kynreeve from Oblivion itself appeared in the room. Both charged at me, and I found myself shooting arrows and rolling and dodging, twisted metal flying past my head in heavy, powerful swings. Despite the fact that any hesitation meant the clean divorce of my head from my body, I was gaining. The Kynreeve was sure to return to the wastes of Oblivion any time now, and Fenrun was slowing in his evasion of my shots. One caught on the hem of his robe.

My mistake was when I stepped too close to the magician. I did not know what he cast on me, but I instantly crumpled. The ache in my stomach felt a thousand times worse. Darkness crept in on the edges of my sight. Fenrun loomed over me, grinning again, a knife I had not seen clenched in his hand.

Now, suddenly, I knew it was the end. I did not grieve. Perhaps my only regret was unknowingly dragging Nulem with me on this insane journey, and even in that case he was happier than I.

Unconsciousness swept over me, my last image that of Fenrun raising his knife.

[…][…][…]

_I was not sure where I was. My entire body hurt. I could not move. I saw something gleam, saw a blade, then a pair of eyes. My arm hurt, so painful. I tried to cry out, but my mouth was stitched together. Everything went dark. Then I followed suit._

[…][…][…]

I lurched forward, then groaned and fell back down. That small movement was the extent of my energy—I felt like Death himself had pounded my entire body in. I was lying in a small bed, in a stone room lit by yellow candles. A brief moment of panic washed across me when I thought I was still in Fenrun's cave, captured somehow, but the feeling washed away when I looked closer and saw the banners of the Black Hand on the wall. So I was in the Sanctuary; it also seemed to be the joint bedroom that the Sanctuary members shared as none, as far as I knew, conducted lives outside the Brotherhood. Footsteps sounded down the hall. A moment later, the door opened and a lithe Bosmer woman slipped through. She had a cup in one hand and a corner of bread in the other.

"It's good to see that you're awake." She said pleasantly, sitting next to me. I did not stay at the Sanctuary often; I thought her name was Telaendril. "We were a bit worried."

My throat was very dry, and I threw back the water in one gulp. When it did not hurt to speak, I gasped, "What happened?"

Telaendril smiled. "You should thank Lucien. If he had not been there when he had, why, you might never have gotten out! Thank Sithis for that man." When I stayed silent, a mix of thoughts running through my head, Telaendril took that as a sign to give me the bread and a bit of advice. "Here, and don't eat it too fast or you'll be sick. Now, I have to go, but I'm fairly sure Ocheeva or Vicente will be in here to talk to you soon. Try not to move." Another smile and some soft footsteps later, and I was alone.

A ringing silence descended on me. The flaky bread in my hand looked both extremely disgusting, and the most delicious thing I had ever beheld. After a moment of slightly nauseous consideration, I began to nibble at the stuff. More footsteps padded down the hall, and the door opened once more. It was Ocheeva this time.

"It is good to see you are well, Sister." She greeted. "There is something you must do when you get well, but for now I'm sure you are curious as to how you really got here." I nodded, setting my bread gratefully to the side, but Ocheeva shook her scaly head. "No. Eat. It was part of the problem. You may or may not know this, but when you went into Fenrun's cave, you were very nearly starving. All it took was one fatigue-draining spell, and you were at our Unholy Matron's very door. Thanks to Lucien, however, you were brought back here in time."

I was silent for a few minutes as I took in the information. I had thought Lachance was not following me . . . I really must have been half-dead to miss that as well. Grimacing, I pushed another pinch of bread into my mouth and forced myself to swallow. Ocheeva reached into a pocket and produced a small envelope.

"This is for you. You act as soon as you may; for now, however, I suggest you stay and recooperate."

She stood and walked to the door, but before she left, I spoke up. "Ocheeva . . . walk always." The Argonian flashed me a small, reptilian smile and disappeared.

I ate a bit more bread and picked up the note. My eyes scanned over the paper, taking in the information. Ocheeva had been right—it was urgent. If something required me to keep information from the other members and come to Lachance's personal fort, things must have become much more grim than I had thought. Sighing, I laid my head back on the thin pillow. Curse my malnourished body.

[…][…][…]

My stubbornness was the real reason I was able to get up and moving so soon. All Family members present protested, excepting Telaendril and Gogron gro-Balmog, as the former was out scouting and the latter was on a contract. Brushing the complaints and a concerned Vicente off, I insisted on continuing with my job. I brought a loaf of bread with me outside the gates of Cheydinhal, slowly consuming the stuff as I made my way to Fort Farragut.

The wilds were cold this time of year. Winter was looming, and the wind cut icily through to my bones. The water clinging to the plant life created a cold sheen on my shins. I came across the fort fairly soon after I exited the city. It was a somewhat unremarkable place; half of the main tower was crumbled away and stained a yellowish hue. A tree grew in front of the door, and I brushed some branches aside to wrench the heavy wooden door open and slip inside. I yanked a lever that then opened a large gate, but not twenty paces past that and I was besieged by a walking, rattling skeleton wielding a dully gleaming silver mace. An arrow clattered next to me from another boney archer further away.

Much, much later, after dodging many traps and smashing apart countless skeletons, I reached the end of the fort. I had to leap past a trap of shooting darts before reaching the next, and final, gate. The chamber beyond was surprisingly spacious and well-lit. The room showed all the signs of being frequently occupied—there was even a bed in the corner. Banners bearing the Black Hand hung on the walls. A thin ladder hung from a cluster of roots that had broken through the ceiling. Several odd chests and bags sat around, but I had no chance to observe anything further before I was approached by a stressed-looking Lachance; or as stressed as the Speaker could look. The only real signs were darker bags than usual under his eyes, and his hood, which had been pushed down. It was the only real change I had ever seen in his usual, stony appearance. His hair was black.

"You certainly have a unique way of welcoming guests, Lachance." I commented, still looking around. "The skeletons were a particular annoyance."

"All just simple precaution, puppet." He answered. "It was a way of being sure that only a member of the Brotherhood, specifically you, can get in. I would continue to exchange pleasantries, but there are some pressing matters which we must address. The time has come to test both your skill and your loyalty to Sithis. The Black Hand has learned that the Dark Brotherhood has been infiltrated. By whom, and for what purpose, we do not yet know. What we do know is that there is some link between the traitor and the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. The traitor has tainted that place beyond repair. It was learned that the traitor has been active for quite some time, since before you joined the Brotherhood. That absolves you of any suspicion."

"I am afraid I still do not understand what is being asked of me . . ." I frowned. "Why did you need me here?"

"You have been selected by the Black Hand to perform the ancient rite known as Purification." He said darkly. "Everyone inside the Sanctuary must die! You must break one of the Tenets you have sworn to uphold. I know this is an unexpected turn of events, but drastic measures must be taken. Ocheeva, Vicente Valtieri, Antoinetta Marie, Gogron gro-Bolmog, Telaendril, M'raaj-Dar and Teinaava. All of these family members must die! From this point forward, you are no longer bound by the Five Tenets! Sithis will forgive any murder, any theft, so long as you serve the Black Hand!"

It would be an understatement to say that I was surprised. I was silent for a few seconds, thinking over the idea. For a moment, I was seriously tempted to refuse. That would be incredibly hypocritical, however, as I literally made a living on murder. Why were these seven any different? Of course, that question answered itself.

They were not.

"Very well." I bowed my head slightly as I moved to the exit, almost mockingly, and slung my bow across my back. "If you will excuse me."

"Vala." I was shocked to my toes as I turned around to face Lachance. The day was revealing more surprises every minute.

He placed a red apple and tightly-rolled scroll in my hands. "These will help you greatly. One is a poisoned apple, and the other, a unique scroll of summoning." His eyes flicked up to meet mine. I instinctively moved back a step. "Do not assume that this gives me any pleasure. This is an order I pray to Sithis that I did not have to issue."

"I was under no such illusion." I muttered back. "Now, most _honored _Speaker, if you will excuse me, I have a job to perform."

"Use the ladder," Lachance gestured to the thin rope hanging from the ceiling. I nodded, and as I put my hand on the first rung, I voiced the question that was itching in my mind.

"Lucien . . . why did you use my first name a moment ago?"

The Imperial leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Why? Did you not like it? I could always use 'Silencer', or perhaps simply 'puppet'. You have no surname that I know of."

My shoulder jumped in the tiniest of shrugs. "Boiche do not usually have family names." The foreign word slipped out before I could stop it.

Lachance continued, ignoring the slip but for a slight twitch of an eyebrow. "I could ask you the same question, though." A pause lasted slightly longer than acceptable. "Well?"

"Maybe I will answer if you answer another for me."

"That is hardly fair. Then I will have gained no ground at all." The assassin sounded highly amused at this point.

"Even so, I believe I deserve to have this answered, and I deserve very little."

"Very well."

"How did you find me in Fenrun's lair, and further still, why did you bother with my life?"

Now it was Lachance's turn to fall silent. I almost smiled, but stopped myself. "Well, I will let you think on your answer whilst I am off." A somber air once again crept in like a fog as I flew up the ladder and into the forest.

[…][…][…]

Water splashed across my hands. Icy needles crept up my arms, but I ignored it and bent my face closer to the pool, throwing handfuls of the freezing water across my cheeks. I was slightly disgusted when I saw the water drip back bloody there, too. Pink swirls curled away into the clear water, vanishing a few inches under. I gritted my teeth, sucked in a breath and pushed my head under the surface, feeling a wafer-thin layer of ice crunch away. I shook my head, rough hair brushing my cheeks. I surfaced with a gasp, flipping my hair back so it lay against my scalp. Running my hands down it, I could feel circular knots sticking up through the smooth patches. The joints in my neck popped when I violently wagged my head back and forth like a dog, water flying into the snow and making little holes.

My little pool was in the high north of Cyrodiil, in the wilds near Bruma. The thin air felt good when I breathed in, and looked nice coming out in a little cloud. The winter sun sparkled off the thick snow and still water. Gooseflesh broke out across my arms and neck, an interesting sensation. The water lingering on my skin hardened into easily-crushable ice that I brushed off. The long gash on my forearm burned under the bandages I had wrapped it in. My mind flashed back to when it had happened, with furious disbelief in naïve Antoinetta Marie's movements as she cut at me with flying, accurate knives. Or Ocheeva's sad, understanding yellow eyes as she purposely let me win. Vicente's extended, horrifying fangs in his face when he swung viciously, though not with all his strength. Telaendril's arrows that grazed a little too close to my side, and sliced through my worn leather armor under my right arm. My gut felt heavy and my mind dark. Pressing my palms to my chill cheeks, I realized what I was experiencing, for almost the first time in my pitifully short life.

Guilt.

I took several deep breaths through my nose. It was nothing. Just more blood, more bodies. I need not worry myself . . . I needed to return to Lachance and tell him the deed was done, in only two days. My map whisked me to the tiny fort symbol on my map that showed me where Farragut was. I looked around a bit more until I found the secret entrance in the setting sun. Pushing away some of the water-softened bark that was the hollowed tree the entrance was hidden in, I slipped down the ladder, closing the trap door behind me. I jumped off four rungs from the bottom and landed neatly on the stone floor with only a prick of pain in my leg. The room was empty. Just to be sure, I rifled through my small collection of potions and removed one that made any living thing nearby glow. No such glowing occurred, so I calmly stoppered the bottle and retreated to a corner to sit and wait.

My finger rubbed idly at the spotty bandage on my arm. The rouge cloth chaffed any uninjured skin, and when moisture soaked under it itched terribly. Unfortunately, I had no other covering to speak of. Taking it off would be better than letting it fester, however, so I quickly unwrapped the dirty cloth and pushed it in my bag, which I had set on the ground, and pulled out a small bottle at the same time. The gash was large, stretching from the protruding bump of the bone in my wrist to the relatively fleshy area on the inside of my elbow. The skin around it was pink and swollen, the wound itself scabbed and leaking small drops of blood at being exposed. Keeping one eye on the cut, I cut the wax on the bottle with my nail, pried the cork off and drained the liquid. It tasted sweet, like sugar-water.

The pale skin of my arm sealed over, melting together and leaving no scar. This particular concoction being more potent than the one I had used on my leg, there was little remaining pain as I cautiously flexed my fingers. Nodding slightly at the result, I brought out my wine and tilted back the bottle, drinking deeply. Perhaps that would force some of that despicable guilt out of my body. I leaned into the corner, eyes searching lazily for an invisible—or not—Lucien. Forcing myself to not drink more, I put my bottle next to myself and crossed my legs. For a while I observed my fingernails, picking little bits of dirt out from under the white crescents. My fingers almost looked too boney to have nails. I had skeleton hands.

The creaking of wood jerked my attention away from my skeletal digits. Lachance was descending from the rope ladder with three limbs, one hand holding a small sack over his shoulder. I stayed where I was, wondering how long it would take for him to see me. I put my hand back on the neck of my wine bottle, calmly drumming my fingers against the dark glass. Lachance walked to a small cupboard and casually began setting various food objects inside. He glanced up when we was done and set an ebony bottle on top of the little cupboard.

I was next to the cupboard hardly before he had let go of the wine. "I thought you said you did not drink."

The Speaker glanced at me as he lowered the bag, and whatever remained in it, into a barrel. "I said I wanted to keep all my senses alert. Nothing was included about drinking. However, that is indeed for you."

"How kind. I did not know you had a heart." I popped the cork with the point of my knife.

"How interesting. I did not know you had a sense of humor." Lucien leaned against the footboard of the bed. A tight silence stretched out, and Lachance was the one to break it. "I assume you are here because you completed your task?"

"Yes." I sniffed the stained cork, and then sipped at the dry alcohol. It was very good.

"Then you have earned your rank of Silencer and proven your loyalty to our Dread Father and Unholy Matron. You should be aware that now, you will no longer be receiving your contracts face-to-face, but instead at specified locations called dead drops." Lucien informed me and offered a small, raising a dark eyebrow as I drank more wine from the bottle. "Use some manners."

"Manners have never been my strong suit."

"Fair enough. Your first dead drop will be inside a hollowed rock on the top of Hero Hill, southeast of Cheydinhal. The dead drops will contain both your pay for the previous contract and the instructions for the next one." Lucien held out the little silver cup again, and I obediently filled it. There was another short silence.

"Is that it, then?" I asked quietly. "No more mention of the Sanctuary again, or any of that?"

Lachance considered the question, contemplatively swirling his wine. "At some point we will have to rebuild the Sanctuary and its members, but at the current time we must, regrettably, leave it silent."

I nodded and took another sip before putting the cork in the bottle and the bottle in my bag. "I should go. There are things I must attend to, and I am sure you do too. Thank you for the wine."

"There is one more thing," Lucien set his cup down and gestured to the ladder with a slightly amused "Ladies first."

When I emerged in the hollowed tree, daylight had broken over the horizon. Peach hues crawled over the treetops, the skyline of Cheydinhal silhouetted against the rising sun. A black horse was nuzzling through the grass, hooves gently thumping in the soft dirt. I stepped to the side to let Lucien through, and the horse immediately raised its head, as though it could smell its master. In a surprising display of affection, Lucien ran a hand down the horse's nose and scratched under its ear. Red eyes gleamed with unnerving intelligence on the side of the beast's dark face.

"This is Shadowmere," The Speaker finally clarified, turning back to me. "My most trusted steed. She is yours now."

I blinked, taken aback. "Lucien, you are well aware that I cannot accept this creature. I . . ." I looked away. "I do not know how to ride a horse."

"Here," Before I could utter a single syllable, Lucien promptly picked me up and almost tossed me into the dark saddle. "I'm sure you can figure out how to ride a horse. It is not that difficult, and Shadowmere will not let you fall."

I gingerly picked up the reins and looked down at Lucien. "You never answered my two questions."

"You never answered mine."

"I used your name because I wanted to." It did not seem such a strange reason; we had known each other for months, and the time for icy formalities had clearly passed.

"Then I suppose I can give the same reason." Now that I heard it from him, however, the statement sounded uncomfortably awkward. Lachance seemed to sense this, and smirked. "My answer remains the same for your second question. Now," He steered Shadowmere to face southeast, where I assumed Hero Hill stood. "Serve Sithis well, Silencer." The assassin slapped the horse's rear end, and the world shot past me as the animal tore across the land.

It was alarmingly disorienting at first, but I soon adjusted and loosened my fingers, which had been clenched in the reins with surprise. Bumping in the saddle was not the most comfortable experience, but I figured I could take the thing off when I stopped. I searched for Hero Hill for quite some time, weaving back and forth through the foothills until I found a broken set of white slabs of stone that could have once been stairs. More looking about the hills ensued on foot after I gratefully stumbled from Shadowmere's back, and eventually, as the sun was well over the horizon, I found the hollow rock. The note inside was slightly crumpled, but did indeed specify the nature of the contract. I was to kill a woman by the name of Myvana Niryis, who had dug herself out in a sort of underground home a bit north of Leyawiin. Apparently, I was to be extremely cautious, as she was very skilled in the making of poisons. My next dead drop was in Chorrol, under the Great Oak in a sack.

I ran a hand down my crooked nose and mouth, sighing. 'Underground' had never been one of my favorite words, and already I could tell this contract was going to be particularly troublesome. Not including the fact that Leyawiin was so far . . . instantly travelling there and searching for Niryis was questionable at best, now since I had Lachance's horse to look after. Something nudged my shoulder, and I realized Shadowmere had followed me up the small hill. I stood, scratched her cheek, and began to undo the many straps that held her saddle in place. It took quite some time, during which the horse was surprisingly patient, but eventually I heaved the shiny leather off her back and stretched the opening of my tiny bag to fit the entire saddle in. Pulling myself onto her back, I found that having no saddle was considerably more comfortable, and I was off down Hero Hill shortly.

[…][…][…]

My tiny camp was made near the bank of the Niben River, within sight of the water but still hidden back in the trees a bit. My fire was small but steady, somehow staying lit despite the damp ground and twigs. My journey to Leyawiin was going to be slow, but I was determined not to simply travel there the fast way, assuming I could even safely do so with Shadowmere. So I had made camp on the first night after crossing a long bridge over the upper Niben. I was forced to stay off the roads, as the warrant for my arrest was still quite active and guards were known to patrol roads, especially during the night. I spent the time sharpening my stolen sword, which I had not yet discarded for need of a simple weapon, and finishing the bottle of fine wine from Lucien. There was little for me to eat, as I tended not to bring food with me out of habit. I still had bread, however, and that went a good way. Shadowmere had lain down behind me, legs folded beneath her almost like a dog. I almost regretted not having anything to feed her, but the horse seemed more than content to simply eat the grass within her reach.

I observed my blade critically, spat on it, than continued to shine and sharpen. My thoughts drifted to the Sanctuary, and the guilt afterward. Of course, I had felt guilty before; the feeling had arisen when I had shot Nulem, and when I walked out on the news of my mother's death. It was not so uncommon to feel. It was not a petty emotion like love, or jealousy, or even rage. All the same, it was a thoroughly unwanted sensation; despite that, emotions were not foreign to me. Some, like annoyance, were more familiar than something like lust.

I clicked my tongue and looked down at my thumb. A small line of blood was leaking down my hand, a matching bit of red on my sword. I licked the injury and rubbed the blood off my blade before laying it next to me. It was little things like this that convinced me to stay away from looking too deep into emotion. Leaning back on Shadowmere, I kicked wet dirt onto the smoldering fire, closed my eyes, folded my arms over my sword and sank into a thankfully dreamless sleep, my hand resting on my wine.

[…][…][…]

"Shit."

I snarled the word several times over, staring at the small trapdoor wedged in the ground. The grass around it was partially trod down, muddy dirt spilling onto the scarred wood. Swearing again, I paced around the square trapdoor. Shadowmere followed me with rolling red eyes. Some natural instinct inside me urged me to stay outside and forget going underground at all. That was no option, obviously, and so I remained torn, pacing with swearing in frustration. Hissing, I swallowed my cowardice, threw the door open and jumped into the hole. The trapdoor closed behind me with a loud clatter.

The fall was longer than I expected. I hit the ground hard after my few seconds in the air. For a brief moment, I believed I had been blinded by some spell. A moment later, my eyes slowly began to adjust to the darkness. It was blackness like I had never experienced. It was actually difficult to see my hand in front of my face. Breathing deeply, I groped at the bottom of the entrance until I found a stray tree branch. Working quickly, I unstrapped my cuirass and took off my torn shirt underneath, then donned my armor again. I tied the dirty thing to the end of the branch and muttered my fire spell, lighting the cloth.

With my makeshift torch in one hand and my bow in my other, I crept through the cave. Roots from trees poked through the low ceiling. If I looked close enough at the walls, I could sometimes see where fingers had scraped them into existence. The ground was very wet, and in some places my foot would unexpectedly plunge into a foggy puddle, nearly pitching me onto my face. Fortunately, the tunnel was not very long. The room at the end was scarcely furnished, with shabby blankets laid against a wall and a stool in the corner. A filth-covered apple and clay cup sat next to it.

A sputtering of flame echoed in the silent hole as I dropped my torch and spun, dodging a clenched fist and letting fly an arrow. The fading orange light illuminated the rage-contorted features of a female Dark Elf—Niryis. She furiously spat something in Dunmeris that I did not understand before lunging at me again, now armed with a small dagger. My own sword was out now too, spots of orange from the dying torch flashing on the iron blade. Myvana roared and sprinted forward, slashing manically at me. I jumped back, to the side. The knife whooshed past my head, and the pointed tip of my ear was nearly cut off. I thrust forward with the sword and Niryis leapt away and bared her teeth before swinging deftly at my middle.

I leapt back, but far too late. The short dagger sliced through my leather armor and through my flesh, leaving a long, deep gash—worryingly deep. I bit back a yell and, noticing how foolishly close the Dunmer was to me, flatly punched her in the face. Bones broke under my fist, and Niryis let out an outraged scream. Seeing the opening, I swung my sword up with every ounce of strength I had in my body. Blood sprayed across the dim cave when the sharpened edge slammed into Niryis' jaw, cutting off her screech of pain.

Gasping with fatigue, I mechanically retrieved a handful of septims from her body, as well as her bloodstained shirt, which I quickly ripped up to use as bandaging for the injury around my stomach. My torch died, and I blindly felt my way back to the trapdoor. It was high above me, and there was no ladder that I could find, so I climbed up the muddy wall, dirt jamming under my nails.

The sun burned my eyes when I emerged on the surface, clawing onto the grass and kicking the trapdoor closed behind me. For several minutes I lay there, blinking to adjust to the blinding light and hot pain across my torso. Finally, with a tight gritting of my teeth, I pulled myself to my feet. Shadowmere kneeled next to me, and I dragged my body onto her back. The beast waited patiently until I was situated before standing and knowingly trotting north.


	13. Heal

**Chapter 13**

Throughout history, "tender loving care" has uniformly been recognized as a valuable element in healing. ~Larry Dossey

**Song: Fairytale, Ludovico Einaudi**

_I faded in and out of consciousness. At times I saw nothing but grass, or coarse black hair scratching my nose and face. The ground rushed below me at different speeds. I could see myself passing over a long stone bridge, and, knowing something was wrong, began weakly tugging at the hair; I was supposed to go west, to Chorrol. Sleep would then wash over me when my feeble attempts to turn were brushed off, and I dreamed of pain, and blood, and knives, and black robes._

My eyes were heavy as I opened them. A stone ceiling loomed high over my head. Pain lanced through my body as I sat up, and I quickly fell back against the pillow, wincing. For a few more minutes I lay there, gasping and sweating, my middle a line of fire. A quiet tapping of footsteps drew my gaze to my right, and with a sliver of recognition, I realized I had seen the drapes with a large black hand on them before. Someone sat next to me, and a moment later the rough rim of a cup pressed against my lips. I groaned quietly and turned my head away, but a strong hand held my jaw in place, so I obediently opened my mouth and lukewarm water slithered down my throat. I coughed and water spattered down my front, and the cup vanished and was replaced by a cloth to wipe away the water on my chin.

"Use some manners . . ." A deep voice muttered absently, as though not expecting me to hear.

"Manners were never my strong suit." I hissed weakly. More burning tendrils of agony shot through my abdomen. A short silence sat heavily in the air. Blinking away the lingering bleariness from my eyes, I looked up to see a rather bored-looking Lachance tearing thumb-sized pieces of bread away from a heel. "This is certainly something I never thought I would see."

"I hardly had a choice after Shadowmere brought you back here." Lucien grumbled, dusting his hands of crumbs. "Situations with the Black Hand have worsened, and looking after you here has been little more than a liability. There are regular attempts on my life now, as well as on those of the other Speakers."

"The traitor certainly knows how to stay active, then." I coughed. "Are there no forthcoming clues?"

"No. The Purification was obviously a waste, as the traitor was not part of Cheydinhal Sanctuary. Here." He handed me several of the little bread lumps as I sat up, grimacing. As I slowly ate, I noticed my cuirass was gone and replaced with a tight wrapping of bandages from my waist to my shoulders. Spots of blood, both dark and bright, were soaked into the white wrappings.

"You have been uncharacteristically generous." I noted.

Lachance raised an eyebrow at my response. "Well, what was I supposed to do? Let you die on my very doorstep? No, it would be beneficial to all if you lived."

"I am sure an opportunity to strip me naked was not part of that decision-making process." I scoffed, leaning back and cracking the joints in my neck as I finished my bread.

"I assure you, my intentions were _entirely _honorable." Lucien bowed his head slightly, but the glint of a grin made his statement less convincing.

"Hm. After living where I have, I have no taboo about nudity, so I could truly care less." My voice had fallen down to a slight wheeze, as moving my lungs too violently jolted my stomach and increased the pain there immensely. I felt much like a child, unable to care for myself. Helpless.

The thought infuriated me.

Lachance glanced at me briefly before standing to rummage through a small chest. Hissing quietly, I threw back the thin blanket and attempted to pull myself from bed. I had not put one foot over the edge before I was none-too-gently pushed back to the pillow, large hands easily holding my shoulders down despite my resistance.

"Vala, I swear on the name of the Night Mother herself . . ." The Speaker breathed deeply out his nose. "If I have to stitch you back together again, I will leave you awake whilst I do so."

I glared silently at him, but settled back all the same. Lucien's left hand lingered slightly on my bare shoulder, and I flinched away on instinct, which was a terrible choice, as my wound stung horribly. Lachance stood and walked toward the ladder.

"I must go now." He informed me. "Expect me back by day's end. The remaining bread is on the table." The assassin turned to me, eyes flashing dangerously. "And above all else, for the love of Sithis, do _not. Move." _

[…][…][…]

Metal clanked together as I shifted through a chest. I kept my fingers out of the way as I pushed aside a healthy amount of daggers, short swords, throwing knives, and notched blades. The chest thumped closed and I limped to another, which I heaved open and crouched down to peer into. Neatly arranged lines of poisons in matching green vials sat inside, accompanied by a small mortar and pestle. Taking a deep breath, I pressed a hand to my pained torso and sat back down at the wooden table, where I devoured a wedge of cheese and a bit of remaining bread. Ignoring the pitcher of water, I gulped down several mouthfuls of wine.

For several minutes I remained there, wallowing in pain and fatigue. There was nothing in the world that I wanted more than to see sunlight, and get out of this forsaken hole. It had been mere hours since Lucien had left, and I was here by myself, in too much agony to even consider climbing or fighting out. I was not sure what time it was. It seemed to matter little here. I made a silent oath to myself that when I escaped this damn cave I was going to visit Nulem, the poor kid, and tell him how happy I was that he was my friend.

Perhaps I was drunk, though whether on wine or sleep I could not tell. It was very likely.

A barrel sitting against the wall dragged my gaze away from my bottle. It was the one thing I had not searched through, due both to tiredness and my sliced belly, but I found myself unable to resist shuffling up to the large thing and tugging at the lid. Nothing happened. Upon closer inspection, I noticed a difficult lock securing it shut. Looking over my shoulder, I snatched up the silver pitcher of water and, covering the top with my hand, I smashed the thing down on the lock with every bit of remaining strength in my broken body. The metal fractured, and after catching my breath and cracking thelock with the dented pitcher one more time, the lock fell off with a heavy thud. Discarding the pitcher, I flipped open the top of the barrel, expecting glittering swords or extra Black Hand banners, or scrolls or some such, and blinked at what was actually there.

It was half-full with apples. All the size of a fist and a half, shining red. Frowning, I picked one out and observed it. The fruit was uncannily perfect, with no bruises or foul spots to speak of, and a full, deep color. After a quick sniff with no sour smells, I concluded that it looked quite appetizing; in fact, the longer I stared, the more delectable it seemed. With a second's pause, I raised the fruit and dug my teeth into the crunchy skin. Before I could take a proper bite, the apple was smacked from my hands. It clunked on the rim of the barrel before falling in with the others.

"Did you listen to nothing I said?" Lachance growled. I blinked stupidly. The man's unexpected appearances were beginning to take a toll on my sanity.

In the end, I simply said, "Yes. I simply chose not to obey." The Imperial gestured at the bed, and after a moment of glaring defiance, I sat down with a grimace. "What is wrong with the apples?"

Lachance sat in the chair next to the bed. "They are poisoned. A more advanced tool for carrying out contracts, but a very useful one. The apples are infused with the deadliest of poisons, and when a mark takes a bite . . . death." He looked at the table and picked up the ruined silver pitcher, turning it over in his hands—which I realized were now gloved. "You owe me twenty septims."

I was about to actually give him the money, but I noticed something on his face. A long scratch stretched from next to his earlobe down almost to the corner of his mouth. It was partially scabbed over, but lines of blood still leaked down his face in places. Feeling obligated for destroying his so beloved pitcher, I clawed to my bag and dragged the ridiculously heavy thing towards me and dug a vial of blue potion out. I tore a piece of blanket off and soaked the cloth with the potion.

"You are bleeding." My breath was still partially gone, a slight wheeze working into my words.

Lucien wiped a hand across his face, staring nonchalantly at the blood. "I'm fine."

I frowned. "I insist. Besides, now I will not have to pay you your twenty septims."

Lachance sighed and rolled his eyes a bit, but turned his head nonetheless. I dabbed the rusty red scabs off, re-wetted the cloth, and wiped the healing potion across the cut. The skin instantly welded shut in a flawless line. Satisfied with my meager work, I tossed the potion-soaked cloth back on the bed and sipped the rest of the liquid myself.

"Finished." I said. "Your pretty little face is all better now."

"Wonderful to know." Lucien said. "Why did you not use that on yourself when you were first wounded?"

I observed the empty vial. "I do not know. I suppose I did not think of it at the time. Well, no matter." I separated the bandages at my middle, pulling the rather tightly wrapped cloth apart to reveal a pink but healed scar dividing my pale skin. I looked back up at Lucien. "How did you get that cut?"

If I had not known better, I would have thought the assassin rolled his eyes. "A hired mercenary. Clumsy and brutal, but he did have a rather large axe." There was a brief silence. I slipped the empty potion vial in my bag, lamenting that it was my last one of healing. My fingers brushed a crinkled piece of paper, and I drew out my map. Bruma sat in the north as always, and just above it was a thick black line that separated northern Cyrodiil from Skyrim. The sight of the province caused the sudden birth of a small idea.

"I am healed enough now." I broke the dead silence. "It is time I move on to the next dead drop and take myself off your hands."

Lucien nodded. "Very well."

I made to stand, but paused, looking down at my bandages. Frowning, I untied the knot at my hip and began unwrapping the cloth. It took less than the blink of an eye for Lucien to realize what I was doing, and quickly walked to a chest, where he picked out a cloth shirt and tossed it toward me without looking. I pushed the bloodstained bandages into a pile and shoved on the shirt. Lucien was being foolish—as he had obviously already seen me bare-chested—but I was not going to say anything. It was one of the most amusing things I had seen.

The shirt was baggy and had a torn sleeve, but it was clean and not ripped almost to shreds and that was plenty good enough for me. I had no serviceable cuirass to speak of, so I donned only my greaves and gauntlets, enjoying the excuse to not wear shoes. It was still slightly painful to bend down too far, or twist my body too radically in one direction or the other, so dressing took slightly longer than usual. After much grimacing and swearing, I clipped the last buckle into place and stood. It felt nice to be up again, actually standing. My bow and quiver were a welcome, comfortable addition on my back. Before leaving, I turned to Lucien and nodded respectfully.

"Walk always in the shadow of Sithis." My voice was still a bit of a wheezy mumble. "Thank you for caring for me."

Lachance looked slightly surprised—in his case, just a slight raising of his eyebrows—but nodded back nonetheless. "You as well, dear Silencer." I paused on my way up the ladder when it looked as though he was about to say something else, but after several seconds, I scaled the wooden rungs and the Speaker vanished below me.

Light seared my eyes when I emerged in the hollow tree. It was sunset, and the sun was glaring directly in my face with no skyline to block it. Squinting, I heaved myself out of the hole and jumped onto a nearby Shadowmere, who was still lacking a saddle. Still not entirely savvy in the saddle, I cautiously kicked my heels into the mare's sides. The horse whinnied jumped into a quick trot, almost a gallop. I grabbed her mane to keep my balance and did my best to steer her west. Shadowmere obliged, and soon I was flying off to Chorrol. Riding a horse really was not as bad as I had thought it would have been; if going very fast, the feeling of wind behind my ears could be considered pleasant.

When I reached the road that curved around the south of the Imperial City I slowed Shadomere's pace, despite the fact that she looked as though she could have run the entire way to Chorrol without a care. As I plodded along in the approaching night, my thoughts fell heavily on the topic of the traitor. I had never considered myself particularly close to the Dark Brotherhood—even before the Purification—though the thought and reality of a Family member attempting, and succeeding, to kill Speakers was a worrying business. I worried not for my own life; if push came to shove, I would put every septim I owned on the chance that I would be the one with my foot on a corpse. The total destruction of the Brotherhood, however, was a much more concerning subject. If there was one thing I would not let stand, it was the obliteration of the one home I had known since escaping Valenwood, murderers or not.

[…][…][…]

I jolted awake with a gasp and stab of pain. Groaning, I dropped onto my back and clutched my middle, the memory of my dream still haunting my brain like a cancer. I propped myself up on my elbow and spat into the grass. What a terrible thing to invade my mind . . . I could still feel the ice freezing my very bones. The pain had been excruciating, beyond anything a human or otherwise should experience. Though above all else, Lachance's most . . . interesting . . . role latched onto me. As much as I wanted to be rid of any memory of such a nightmare, a small fraction of me wanted to admit that some parts had been unnervingly enjoyable.

Running a hand through my hair, I decided it was past time for a cut. Pulling my knife from my pack, I used Sufferthorn to slice my hair down to a finger's length or shorter. It was not all even. I tossed the severed hair into the grass and, using my weak fire spell, burned it. Shadowmere blinked a red eye at me while I jumped onto her back and moved off west again. Within another two hours I was able to see Chorrol, and by noon I was reluctantly handing Shadowmere to a stableman. Putting the beast in the hands of someone other than Lucien or myself felt wrong somehow, but I assured the mare that would not be spending any extended time in the city, though I was not sure how much she understood. Inside the city walls, Chorrol was a rather large town. I entered in a sort of town center. The local Mages and Fighters' guild halls were accompanied by other shops and large houses that built a circle around an immense tree. The tree was huge, with branches that stretched almost to the roofs of some of the shops.

I casually walked around, avoiding conversation and keeping to myself as I slowly circled closer to the tree. When I was within a stride from the great trunk I looked over my shoulder and, assured that I was not being watched, dashed forward. The little sack was hidden behind a bit of short shrubbery and a rock, but contained another letter and a generous amount of gold. Knowing I should leave before I was noticed, I immediately stood and slipped both note and money into my bag.

As it was late in the afternoon, I concluded that although it would be wise to stay in Chorrol and rent a room at a local inn, I had an oath that I was to fulfill. I left the city and went to the stables, where the stableman was staring nervously at an unsaddled and frankly demon-like Shadowmere. He sighed with a great deal of relief when I tossed him a couple coins and took her away, not needing to hold or steer her. The riskiest part of now having Shadowmere was that although she was a mighty horse indeed, I was unsure about the safety of using my map with her. After a moment of serious contemplation, sitting in the grass just next to the road leading into Chorrol, I decided I would try it. I ripped out my map, wrapped my fingers firmly in Shadowmere's mane, and touched the icon indicating Bruma's northernmost gate with my thumb.

The tearing, howling, icy wind seemed all the more icy and howling now. I was tossed and whipped about as usual and landed on my feet in the usual place, just inside the city, though experienced a very unusual stab of panic. Shadowmere was gone. I scraped a hand through my hair, my torn, bitten nails dragging across my scalp. Knowing I would be better keeping a level head, I walked to the other side of the city and went outside the walls. There, to my immense surprise, was a sour-looking Shadowmere standing inside the shabby stables. Letting out a small breath, I lead her out of the stables and leapt onto her back, directing her north and around the city. The mare nickered in annoyance, but broke out in a quick trot. I wove around the wilderness and quickly found the path leading to Cloud Ruler Temple.

Riding a horse and staying at a walking pace on said horse was almost slower than if I were to simply run. However, riding a black horse with red eyes certainly had a dramatic appeal to it. The beast's breath created clouds of fog and spittle in the freezing air that dragged behind me in streaming lines. Finally, the pointed, foreign architecture of the Temple crested the snow-covered rocks. I jumped from Shadowmere and stalked up the gray steps, the icy stone burning the soles of my feet. My gaze quickly flicked between the gathered Blades outside, all in full armor, sparring or patrolling the walls. There was a tense, anxious air to the Temple grounds that was starkly different than the last time I had been there. It was strange, and worrying. I did not pay a significant amount of attention to the goings-on of the world, but if I were to go on the information Nulem had given me, my guess would be that things regarding Oblivion had gotten considerably worse.

Jauffre was standing outside the main building, eyes far away and rubbing his chin worriedly. He only looked up when I was almost directly in front of him. "Ah, Vala. How wonderful of you to visit."

I nodded in appreciation. "It is my pleasure, Brother Jauffre. I do not wish to be rude, but I was on my way to see Nulem; it has been quite some time since my last being here."

The Grandmaster glanced away, then back. "I . . . I don't think he wants to see you right now."

That was a statement which instantly made me suspicious. There was not one instance in our recorded acquaintance when Nulem did not want to see me, not even after I had almost killed him. "Why?"

"He, well . . ." Jauffre sighed. "You may as well come along. You of all people deserve to see him." Jauffre led me to the left, to a small wing off the main Temple. Inside was a row of immaculately-made beds and perfectly-arranged chests at the end of each. None were occupied but one, at the very end of the line. A growing sense of unease settled around me like a choking shroud at each step I took. Finally, I recognized the figure.

Nulem was staring at a wall. His eyes were dead of any bright life they had possessed. As I stared, transfixed at his bedridden state, he blinked slowly and tilted his head slightly to look up. His face was drawn and pained. Much of his sun-beaten skin had lost its glow and was pale and slack. Overall, he looked immensely sad.

"Nulem, Vala has come to see you." Jauffre said kindly. He nodded at me and quickly left the way we had come. I stood at the end of the bed, and for a long, long time Nulem and I simply stared. It was like to staring at a corpse. What emotion, if any, was on my face, I did not know. Finally, I walked around the bed and sat on the one next to my friend and leaned my elbows on my knees.

"Nulem . . ." I started, but the Bosmer raised a weak hand.

"You need not say anything, Vala." He sighed. "This is not your fault, and if there is anyone's sympathy I don't need it's yours."

"I am sorry."

Nulem laughed, his breath thin. "Why? What the hell did I _just _say? Actually, what the hell did I just _hear? _I suppose I should be grateful that I weaseled those words from you, though. It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, that."

I moved and sat on the end of the bed, where his right leg from the knee down should have been. "You know, now I really am a faster climber."

My friend snickered, all cloudy deadness in his face gone, and pushed himself up into a slight sitting position. "And she regains her sense of humor! I expected this visit to be filled with scathing apathy!" He shook his head. "That was a terrible joke, though. The only funny part was that recently I thought Dremora to be funnier than you."

I flared my nostrils. "I see you have not changed."

Nulem twirled his finger in circles and poked the bed. "Aaaaand we're back to normal. That didn't take too terribly long."

"I could make jokes about _this_, you know." I patted his severed thigh. "So I would watch your witty tongue."

He winced. "That's still a bit of a touchy subject, Val." The conversation dropped for a moment, and I remembered my oath conveniently just as Nulem spoke again.

"Why did you come up here? Surely not to pity me." He frowned down at his leg.

"I . . . I wanted to ask why everyone in Cyrodiil seems so concerned."

"Oh. Well, gates to Oblivion are opening across the province and outside cities. People are worried because they don't know if they _should_ be worried. Nothing major has come out of any gates, and so far nothing has happened but the opening of them. Paranoia is rampant." Nulem raised a blond eyebrow. "I don't know how you cannot know these things. Where have you been?"

I sighed quietly. "Nowhere of importance."

[…][…][…]

I growled and crunched the note in my hand. I also must have muttered my fire spell as well, as the paper suddenly burst into flames. Tossing the flaky embers away into the snow, I paced in circles around my boulder. An entire family . . . this was going to be unpleasantly time-consuming. Each target was sure to be on different sides of the province, not excluding the fact that if any lived in cities, which was likely, guards would be yet another concern. Partially melted snow sloshed around my feet. I kicked in exasperation and chunks of snow soared into the air. My heels ground through the wet snow as I slid down to sit against the boulder. I rubbed my temples and pressed a hand over my eyes. Inside my chest was a hard, choking pressure. My gut jumped, making my shoulders shrug as well. It happened again, and the pressure moved up to block my throat.

For a moment, I wondered if this was what crying felt like. After quickly wiping a hand over both cheeks and discovering no wetness, I supposed that I actually could not cry. It made sense. I was not human. I was a strip of meat, a hole, and a pinecone. Pinecones do not cry. My hand ran down my face, pulling on my cheeks and lips. I ground my teeth at my own weakness, my ability to suddenly break down. This was nothing. Stand up. Continue. I bit my tongue, hard. A metallic sting flooded my mouth. I dug my nails into the back of my hand. I stood.

Spitting bloody saliva into the snow, I stalked back to Shadowmere and leapt onto her back. She could stay in Bruma's stables whilst I did this contract. After securing her with the same stableman, who looked extremely unnerved at having the demon horse back in his care, I asked him where Applewatch farm was. After getting directions to the farm, I marched off into the snow with small lines of scarlet still leaking down my hand. Applewatch, according to the stableman, was very close to Bruma—not even a mile west.

It felt good to walk. One foot in front of the other, and soon there was no reason to focus on anything else. I arrived at the farm disappointingly soon. It was a little place, with a patch of frosting vegetables nearby and a pointed straw roof. A ray of blinding pink sun cut across my eyes, and I retreated a few steps. The sun was setting. With nightfall so close, I may as well wait for the cover of darkness. That was easy. I could wait.

Soon enough, the last rays of a blood-red orb fell behind the horizon, and stars began to crest the mountains. I walked forward and tried the door. Locked. With no lockpicks to speak of, I resorted to simply kicking the door in. The sound of wood splintering crashed through the still winter evening. I pushed open the broken door and stepped inside the cottage. An elderly woman was standing near a table, alarmed. She stumbled away as I approached.

"Perennia Draconis?" I demanded, not breaking stride.

"Y-yes, what in Talo's name do you want?" She stammered. I grabbed her by her collar and slammed her against the nearest wall. Her feet dangled above the floor.

"I need information, Perennia." I hissed. "Where are your children?"

At that moment, a large dog tore across the room towards me, growling. I dropped Perennia and swung my foot up, kicking the hound sharply in the throat. It whimpered, but lunged toward me again. Now, however, I had pulled a single arrow from my quiver and when the dog was close enough, drove it down into its neck. It stumbled and collapsed with a whine. Dark blood seeped into its black fur and onto the floorboards as I picked up a horrified Perennia.

"Answer the question."

The woman shook her head the tiniest bit. "N-no! I won't let you h-hurt my babies!"

I slammed her against the wall again. Her old head cracked against the wood. "Where are they?"

Perennia's eyes rolled but quickly focused back on me. "I'll never tell you!" There was something to be said for her dedication. Dedication, however, was not rewarded.

"Very well. Rest with Sithis." Sufferthorn cut across her throat, and she weighed heavy in my arms. Blood soaked out of the fatal wound, spilling over my armor and toes. Wiping my hands on my armor—something I realized was a useless endeavor—I pulled my arrow out of the dog and put it back. Using my foot to roll Perennia's body over, I bent and searched through her pockets. Removing a folded letter, it turned out to be exactly what I was looking for. It listed the names and locations of each Draconis child.

Perfect.


	14. Run

**Chapter 14**

I always loved running... it was something you could do by yourself, and under your own power. You could go in any direction, fast or slow as you wanted, fighting the wind if you felt like it, seeking out new sights just on the strength of your feet and the courage of your lungs. ~Jesse Owens

**Song: Runaway, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs**

A thin shower of dust cascaded around me as a stone fell loose, a dull thump echoing a dozen feet below me. I took a deep breath and hooked my hand higher, using the dark space where the brick used to be as a foothold. Something small with many legs tickled across my toes. I ground my foot against the wall and continued climbing, not daring to look down. I was climbing—I was on my own territory, familiar ground, but even so, I had no wish to see the dark fall below me. Many minutes of hard, painful climbing continued in the chill winter night. When I reached the top I threw first a hand, an elbow, and then my arm over the stone wall and levered myself up.

After taking a few deep breaths, I jumped off the wall and landed on the roof of a house. The icy wood creaked under my bare feet as I dashed across the roof and slid to a stop within view of the front city gate, where a torch glowed in front of a twisted statue. I whipped my bow off my back and hooked my elbows over a pointed bit of the house where a window faced away from me, holding myself steady with my knees. The reddish fletching brushed my cheek as I took careful aim at a green-clothed Bosmer with a glowing torch—a large splotch of light in the middle of the darkness. My eye was sharp, and my fingers itched with anticipation. It was almost too easy.

It felt good to hunt.

A quiet twanging sang in my ear as my arrow shot off. It struck its mark true, as it always did. Even from where I was perched, laying on the roof, I could see the thin shaft sticking from the elf's forehead, directly in the temple. The man staggered, rocking back and forth, before falling forward on his face. I hissed in victory and leapt to my feet, staying low as I sprinted back to the wall and swung myself over. Going down was far easier than climbing up, and soon I was flying off through the forest, strange shadows dancing from leaves in the pale moonlight. The Bravil guards would never catch me. I would make it to the next dead drop, easily avoiding any repercussions of my last several contracts, as I had up to—

A snarling, surprised yell tore from me as I hurtled face-first to the ground. I flung out my arms and caught myself before swinging my knife, Sufferthorn gleaming subtly in the moonlit woods. I made the mistake of not wildly waving my knife for a moment, as there was no one to swing at, but immediately regretted it as a hand grabbed my collar and painfully slammed me into a nearby tree.

"I thought I could stop you! What madness has claimed you? By Sithis, what have you done?" A voice almost roared. I instinctively flinched away, my slightly sensitive hearing not used to such abuse. "You have betrayed me, you have betrayed the Dark Brotherhood! I am here to end your miserable life, to—"

My head snapped forward, and my forehead connected sharply with that of my attacker. The cloaked man stumbled back, obviously not expecting such an assault, and I stepped forward several paces as well. "I have not the slightest idea what you are going on about, but I can assure you that . . . shit. Lachance! What the name of Sithis are you doing?"

Lucien frowned. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

I tried not to lose my temper. "Very good. Now, what is this about betrayal?"

The assassin began pacing, gesturing to me occasionally as he spoke. "Your first dead drop contract, you carried that out, killed Celedaen. After that, you eliminated the Draconis family, as ordered. Then, your dead drops went unvisited, your targets ignored. Instead, you have been systematically killing off all the members of the Black Hand! J'Ghasta, Shaleez, Alval Uvani, Havilstein Hoar-Blood - Speakers and Silencers all. And Ungolim, the Listener himself! The surviving members of the Black Hand know that you're innocent. They believe I am the traitor." He stopped paced to stare evenly at me. "Go now to your next dead drop. Wait for the traitor to deliver the orders and confront him. After he has been dealt with, meet me at Applewatch, the farm where you killed the Draconis woman. It should be safe."

"This is . . ." I blinked and fell back a step as the information sank in. "This is your fault!"

"Mine!" The anger was back in Lucien's voice. "This is no-one's fault but the traitor!"

"You should have suspected something, kept watch on the dead drops earlier!"

"You think I had time to do that, with the Black Hand hunting me like a beast?"

"You had time to find me now, did you not? This is the kind of time you could have used to find the traitor much sooner!" Before I could think on what I was doing I was throwing punches. "Now the Brotherhood has become undone!" One of my fists connected with Lachance's shoulder, hard enough that my knuckles spiked with pain.

Something burned on my face and I reeled back, holding a hand to my cheek and glaring at Lucien. I was not surprised that he had struck me, but yet I tightened my grip on Sufferthorn, and noticed Lucien tensely resting a hand on the pommel of his sword. My teeth were bared, my lips pulled back in an instinctive snarl. There was a moment of icy silence in the shadowed forest. After another second we lunged at each other again in unison; I hissed as a hand clamped around my wrist, and my dagger dropped to the ground. My back scraped against the tree trunk again; my hand was pinned next to me. Furious, I swung my free hand up, but was again stopped. I was almost about to resort to using my forehead as a weapon again when something crushed almost painfully against my mouth, stopping me.

Several seconds passed before I realized what was happening. A few actual, _genuine _emotions passed through my person, most, if not all, being different variations of rage—although I knew that there was little emotion in the kiss, that it was just some strange assertion of power. My hands were pinned; I was unable to push Lucien away, and with a mental start, I realized that I may not have done so if I had the power to. The thought irritated me, like an itch I could not scratch. It irritated me to the point that I brought my knee up sharply, feeling it connect with something soft. Lucien doubled over, his grip on my hands loosening. I ripped my hands away and lashed out, leaving three parallel marks on the Speaker's face.

I then wasted no time in turning and running.

[…][…][…]

Anvil was the same as I had last seen it; it still reeked of saltwater and ale, was still swarming with sailors. I weaved through the city in high afternoon, staying as discreet as possible in such broad daylight. I found the location of the dead drop, by a large statue of a mermaid inside the city walls. Remembering Lucien's orders, I ducked behind a collection of barrels and crates, and waited. The cool wind from the sea rushed past me, stirring my knotted hair slightly. I watched the yellow sun rise to its peak, and then begin its slow descent to the walled horizon. Both apples were eaten and I was almost starting to bore when a Bosmer broke off the main road and started toward the barrels I was hiding near.

I stepped from behind the barrels as he approached and, quickly looking to be sure I was not watched, dealt a sharp kick to the side of the man's knee. He yelled and turned to me, but far too late. My elbow connected violently with his chest, forcing him to stumble back. I swept a leg under both of his and the Mer crashed to the ground. He fumbled for the pathetic dagger at his belt as I fell onto him, forced his chin up with my hand and pressed the knife to his windpipe.

"Traitor!" I hissed and pressed the knife closer. A strip of blood ran down the metal.

"No, wait! Wait, please! I'm... I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do anything wrong! It was the robed man! He... he paid me to put those things in the barrel! I don't know his name, and his face was in shadow. He called to me yesterday as I walked by the lighthouse. I think he lives there! Or he did, anyway. He told me he was leaving Anvil." He reached, with some difficulty, into a pouch at his hip and procured a familiar-looking envelope. "I'm sorry, but that's all I know!" Leaving one hand to keep the knife where it was, I unfolded the envelope and read over it.

"Tell me where he lives or I will cut you open." I snarled, jamming the papers into my own bag and making a small cut on the throat of the Bosmer.

"Ah! No, please! The lighthouse! Just outside the city walls! I think the robed man lives there! In . . . in the cellar! I don't know what goes on down there, but there's a horrible smell coming from underneath that door. It's like... something died inside! Listen, that's all I know, really! Maybe Ulfgar Fog-Eye can tell you more. He's the lighthouse keeper, and probably rented out the cellar. Talk... talk to Ulfgar. He's sure to have the key to the cellar. You know, if... if you want to get down there! Now please, just let me go!" He quivered in fear when I left Sufferthorn on his neck. In truth, I was merely considering whether to keep him alive or not. The conclusion was a fairly easy one to make.

The knife clattered to the bottom of my bag as I stood, shoving the limp body of the Mer into the pool around the mermaid with my foot. Damn Boiche talked too much. I quickly left the scene and the city, making my way to the towering lighthouse in the bay. I kept my distance from any and all guardsman that passed near me, knowing the Bosmer's body would soon be discovered. The door to the lighthouse creaked as I pushed it open and closed it firmly behind me. A frowning Nord man turned at my entrance.

"Ulfgar Fog-Eye?" I demanded, reaching into my bag.

"Aye, I'm Ulfgar Fog-Eye, master of the Anvil lighthouse—ah!" My sword pressed against his fat throat.

"The key to the cellar, now!" I spat, pressing the sword closer, much like I had done with the Bosmer.

"What? What's the meaning of this? I don't want no trouble! Here, take the damn key!" He reached into his pocket and tossed the little sliver of metal at my feet. I chose mercy, and upon letting my sword up Fog-Eye sprinted out of the lighthouse. Hoping he did not call on the guard, I snatched up the key and descended into the cellar.

The second I set foot in the dim underground, I was greeted by a ferocious snarling. In the light of yellow, dripping candles I could make out the shape of a dog, tearing across the room. Kicking seemed to work rather well with dogs, as they conveniently seemed to be about knee-high, so I stayed with that strategy. A grotesque clicking echoed in the silent room as the hound's teeth clacked together, its jaw smashed up by my swinging foot. It was cut off mid-whine by my silver sword, stabbed straight down through the neck. I pulled out the bloody blade and waited for further provocation, but there did not seem to be anyone else in the cellar. I was alone.

With the distraction of the rabid dog out of the way, I took a better look at my surroundings. The room was lit by candles of varying sizes; some were clustered around a large object on a silver plate. I took several steps into the room and immediately fell back, throwing a hand over my nose and mouth. The smell was that of rotting meat and disease, clouding the cellar like a poisonous fog. Now I saw the bodies, and body parts, and _pools _of blood. I was unable to tell if the parts were man, Mer, or beast, but clearly they had been there a significant amount of time—enough to begin rotting, at least. Smears, handprints, and small puddles of blood added an especially morbid touch to the room. Still holding my nose shut, I approached the shape on the table surrounded by candles, and was slightly disturbed when I discovered that it was a decaying head. Her mouth was partially agape and drooling, teeth black and skin melting away. Small locks of greasy black hair still clung to the balding scalp, held there by a chipped gold head-band. Even as I stared, one of her glassy eyes began to slowly slide out of the drooping socket. Spatters of rust-colored blood were dried around the candles and severed head.

Turning from the repulsive sight, I unlocked the other door in the cellar. The first thing that caught my eye as I walked in was a journal, looking out of place amongst the further sprays of blood and metal tools and knives. I picked up the little book, noticing the worn cover and yellowing pages; this was a loved the book. I quickly skipped from page to page, reading quickly. Crazed ramblings, certainly, and terrible accusations against the Dark Brotherhood, one assassin in particular.

_I saw Lucien Lachance yesterday. He was in the Sanctuary talking with Ocheeva. He was right there! So close I could have severed his spine in less than a heartbeat!_

He was not part of the Sanctuary. I had made sure of that fact, at least. He had certainly visited in the past month, however. I racked my memory, trying to remember if there were any strange guests. The occasional Speaker or fellow Silencer, but no-one of specific significance. I felt a small, tiny amount of regret for not paying more attention. As I read, I noticed an unnerving obsession the traitor had with Lucien. It was almost more than an obsession. Killing Lachance seemed to be the life goal of this . . . person. Destroying the entire Brotherhood played a worryingly large role as well; the traitor talked of actually killing the Night Mother herself as retribution for his own mother's death.

I pocketed the crazed journal and, finding no more evidence, began to walk back out when the decapitated head caught my eye once more. I may come to regret it, but . . . this head had a special place here. It could genuinely disturb the traitor should I show it to him—or her—and easily weed out the innocent from the guilty. Swallowing any disgust I might have had, I picked up the head by the lank hair and lowered the soggy thing into my bag, quickly rescuing my map. As I ascended the ladder to the lighthouse, I realized that the head must be that of the traitor's mother, something that certainly did not raise my opinion of the damned person.

I had seen Applewatch already, something my map took into account by allowing me to travel directly there. The sun was setting when I arrived, much like the first time I had paid the farm a visit. Snow covered the ground now, turning the farm and the miles of land around it into an inhospitable stretch of tundra. The entire northern part of the province looked this way, affected by winter more than anywhere else. My feet sank several inches into the frozen water, a feeling that I greatly enjoyed. I reached out my hand to open the thin door to Applewatch, but stopped a hairsbreadth from the wood. My nostrils flared. Something did not smell right—literally. A too-familiar stink tainted the air if the wind blew just right . . . brushing it off as a paranoid imagination, I took a quick draught from my bottle before walking into the farm. The stench was instantly, strongly apparent. Exactly the smell I had experienced not long ago in the cellar of the lighthouse: that of rotting flesh and death.

A body, twisted and mutilated, hung upside-down not three strides from the door. There was nothing to describe the horror of a man, Mer, beast . . . whatever it had been in life. Pieces of flesh had been torn away from the body. Bone glinted through in many places. A mouth was open in a silent scream, blood still dripping down the nose and head to pool on the ground. No teeth were present. The only way I was, with increasing outrage, able to recognize the body was the set of three thin lines across one pallid cheek on the body—exactly those I had delivered to one Lucien Lachance.

It was time to run again.

[…][…][…]

Red footprints spread out into the snow, melting the cold crystals. Sun glinted brightly off the white and dark green branches of pines. Dark, sharp stones were only partially covered by the inches of snow, leaving plenty of room for me to further cut my feet. I stared ahead of me, up the massive hill, north. A rock cut rather deep into my right heel; I did not even flinch. My foot was slightly warm and left considerably more liquid prints, but other than that I paid it little attention. The thing was just one half of the mechanism used to push me another step. I had not stopped walking for two days straight. No sleep. Very little food. It was my sojourn to Cyrodiil once again . . . just involving a different province.

My night at Applewatch was my last in anything considered civilization. I stayed only long enough to hear an explanation before running. I did not look back. I felt no regret. My past self was back; my self before Cyrodiil, my self before the Dark Brotherhood. It felt good, impossibly good, to be who I was once more. Caring for anything had led me far astray. Caring for the Brotherhood made me furious, caring for Nulem made me sad, and . . . that is why I never let myself care for anyone else.

I needed food now. I did not stop walking, simply grabbed my bow, nocked it and continued on, swerving to and fro, no longer in a straight line north. Prey would fall across my path sooner or later. Adrenaline, momentary but sweet, fueled my body onward. Tiny, animal prints in the snow caught my eye, and I turned sharply left, following the tracks. If I stayed optimistic, which was unlikely, I would reach the border of Skyrim by the end of the day. I sucked in a sharp breath, blew it out my nose in a white fog, and smiled. I grinned until the wind turned my teeth to icy bits and my cheeks burned and I could hardly see.

It felt good to hunt.

[…][…][…]

**So that's it! Short, sweet and to the point. I suppose this was just me getting it out of my system…but whatever, that can answer any and all inconsistencies. Farewell, and thanks!**


End file.
